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narniagiftexchange · 3 years ago

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THE SPRING NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

for: @oflucyandlorien from @noctusfury.

lost & found.

G-rated, K-rated language, one-shot, 2.6k words. Angst, hurt/comfort, romance, and found family.

Set in the Golden Age, after the events of "The Horse and His Boy".

Cor | Shasta/Aravis, Cor | Shasta & Pevensies, Aravis & Pevensies.

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Summary: The Pevensies have disappeared, and Narnia and Archenland are in an uproar. Archenland offers to help the Narnians search for their lost monarchs. Cor | Shasta reflects on the impact the Pevensies have brought on him and his family, along with their disappearance. Meanwhile, Cor and Aravis also deal with budding feelings towards each other.

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Note to Giftee: So I have to say that I was very excited to have received your request. I've been WAITING and WAITING to write a fic for Cor/Aravis, or something in the HHB universe, but between them and Golden Age Pevensies, it was kinda difficult figuring out what to write. But I figured I might as well do both.

What was a surprise was that instead of this remaining a one-shot, this story is beginning to grow into a two-shot, perhaps even a three-shot. So I'll tag you if I end up working on/finishing those following parts.

Also, sorry for the bad title. For some reason I couldn't think up anything that could fit this fic. So if you have any ideas, let me know. ^_^

Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this fic and that I was able to incorporate the things you most enjoy. Thank you for the opportunity. ^_^

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It had been a year later, a year since the events of the Battle of Anvard, when Anvard had received the shocking news: the Kings and Queens of Narnia had disappeared during a hunting trip! Vanished! Cair Paravel was in an uproar!

When Cor — formerly known as Shasta (though still sometimes called that by his more intimate friends) — first heard the news, he was shocked. Took him time to process that, no, he wasn't mishearing the information just given him.

Then came the denial. This simply couldn't be true. Of course they didn't disappear! They were fine! Perhaps they had forgotten to bring word to Cair Paravel that they were extending their hunting trip. Surely not all of the Monarchs of Narnia could've disappeared at once… could they?

When they had been told that it had been two weeks since they had left on that hunting trip, and that the Narnians were still searching for their Monarchs all throughout the realm, dread seeped in. Accusations of treachery, abductions, assassinations even flew in the air, and their natural enemies, the Calormene Empire and Telmar, quickly fell into suspicion.

Corin, his brother, was the first to voice out this conviction. "It has to be the Calormenes! It has to be!"

Others began chorusing this as well. "They've been coveting the lands of the North for ages!" cried one of the court elders. "Acquiring the Kings and Queens of Narnia as hostages would be just the sort of bargaining chip they'd need to pressure us into submission!" another wave of shouts and debates issued forth in the king's court.

While it had been a year since the conflict with Prince Rabadash — now Tisroc (Emperor or King-of-Kings in the Common Tongue) of the Calormenes since the passing of his late father (though some wondered, even among his own people, whether or not the Tisroc died from assassination rather than natural causes) — and even though Rabadash had more than shown that he was a passive and 'peaceful' ruler in the short time of his rule, there had been rumors that Rabadash had been scheming to find solutions to redeem his recent disgrace at the hands of the Narnian monarchs. So this wasn't a possibility that could be ignored.

That being said, Cor knew that just speculating on what happened wasn't going to get them any closer to finding the lost Monarchs of Narnia. His father, who had been quietly observing the pandemonium in his court, seemed to agree with this, as he cleared his throat and ordered for silence. "Please, friends!" he implored, his usual jovial countenance had long past fled. "Now's not the time for speculation. The larger issue at hand is trying to locate their persons. Should we not instead try to find figure out where they could be and try to bring them back to their respective residence, in a speedy and safe manner?"

Several of the councilors had the decency to look sheepish or shame-faced at the king's gentle admonishment. Cor looked at his father thoughtfully. He knew how much the Pevensies meant to King Lune. He saw how they interacted and from what Corin and their father had told them, the Pevensies were like family to Anvard's royal family. Ever since the Monarchs of Narnia began ruling Narnia, and the first delegation had been sent to Archenland, King Lune and his late wife, who had no children at the time, had practically adopted them into the family and became their foster parents of sorts, and the 'diplomatic missions' between the two royal houses were more familial visits and holiday repasts in all but name.

Cor, for his part, despite only having known the Pevensies for a little over a year, had grown to think of them as elder siblings and it was no secret that the Twins — Corin in particular — idolized the Kings of Narnia (the Queens, too) and were always thrilled whenever they came to visit, and vice versa. Naturally, Cor tended to favor King Edmund, the first of the Monarchs that he had met and interacted with in Tashbaan on his Quest to reach the North. Now that he was Archenland's Crown Prince and Heir, he had a lot of education to catch up on, and the younger of the Narnian kings had been the perfect tutor, patient and thorough. Cor was, in particular, interested in legal administration and law, similar to the Just King himself, and they had many long discussions concerning the matter.

Aravis, Cor knew, had grown quite attached to the Queen Lucy and they had often gone into the gardens and had done many outdoor activities, as well as telling each other stories and lore from their respective cultures. Being an only child, Aravis never had the benefit of sibling companionship (aside from some cousins), and the Pevensies, Queen Lucy in particular, became a sort of big sister figure for her. And the relationship really improved her mood over this past year. Cor tried not to notice how pretty she looked among the copper leaves — a Queen of Autumn. He tried not to notice the radiant glow on her face, the Spring in her smile, and the chimes in her laughter.

He tried not to notice a lot of things where Aravis was concerned. It tended to muddle the mind and leave him utterly confused. And warm. Particularly when she smiled at him. (Since when did her eyes shine like the black pearl that he saw a fisherman catch back in Arsheesh's village?)

But she wasn't smiling now. Aravis was sitting next to King Lune's throne to his right, and worry for her friend clouded her face. Fear, even. The expression made his heart ache, and he had to stop himself from going over and comforting her. Now wasn't the time or place.

But what he could do is help his father alleviate the situation. "May I propose something?"

Cor almost shrunk back against his seat as the whole room — including the Narnian messenger — turned to look at him expectantly. His father most of all (Aravis was also giving him a surprised look, and the boy was trying not to fidget).

"A proposal, you say, Cor?" inquired King Lune, stroking his beard out of habit. "Do tell, my boy, do tell!"

"Why don't we discreetly send search parties to Narnia to help in the search? I mean, we know that the last place they were last seen was in the Western Woods, right? Let's start from where we know they could be and then work our way from there. We should be able to find them eventually with added assistance."

While there were many who were still reserved doubts, there were others who nodded slow approval and even threw each other hopeful glances and murmurings as they voiced their consent.

King Lune was looking at Cor proudly. "Hah, excellent idea, my boy! Splendid! You're picking up a thing or two, it seems." he turned to the nobles expectantly. "Any objections?"

One lord tentatively raised a hand. "I do, my lord."

King Lune gestured for him to continue. "Speak, then, Lord Galen."

Lord Galen turned to Cor, his face the picture of skepticism. "If I am to understand you correctly, you're proposing to send search parties to Narnia to speed up the search?"

Cor wasn't sure where he was going with this, but decided to humor him. "Yes?" he then cleared his throat and emended his reply with a more resolute, "Yes, I am."

"My issue with this idea is this:" continued Lord Galen, "how do we do this, per your suggestion, without attracting the attention of our enemies, such as the Calormene Empire and Telmar. When word eventually reaches them, they'll chomp at the bit to race each other to be the first to capture Narnia, and indeed Archenland, as well. What say you to this?"

Once again, Cor felt a multitude of gazes expectantly awaiting his response. He gulped. "Well, I…" from the corner of his eye, Cor could see Aravis giving him an encouraging gesture with her hand, and continued, straightening himself and trying to make his voice sound more confident than he felt. "Obviously, we can't neutralize completely the possibility that the enemies' spies will find out eventually…" he looked at everyone in the room, and they nodded their agreement, silently prompting him to continue, "therefore, the only option to counter this is to use that information against them."

That got their attention. "How so, Cor?" asked his father.

"Simple: by making them believe it all to be a cunning ruse," Cor explained, beginning to warm up to the subject. "A selected and trusted retinue of Archenlanders ride to Narnia, such as myself, Corin, Aravis, several of the lords, and, of course, various guards and servants, etc, etc, under the guise of having been invited to Cair Paravel for a social event. We will remain for two weeks, secretly helping in the search for the Pevensies, while the festivities and games that will happen in the palace will provide us with a distraction…" he paused, thinking of his next words before continuing. "Meanwhile, the nobles of Narnia and Archenland will provide a double ruse, in which they will hold a 'secret meeting' while the games commence. They are to drop hints and to make sure that they are overheard, with enough discretion to make it believable; that way when they rendezvous to a vacant room or tent, it'll spike the spies' curiosity enough to venture there in order to collect any supposed important information for their masters. Doesn't matter what the topic's about, so long as it's a ruse with some truth implemented in it for validity's sake.

"Meanwhile, while all of this is going on, Archenlander and Narnian search parties will search high and low for the Kings and Queens of Narnia as thoroughly and quickly as warranted. I recommend some look-a-likes to play as decoys of Their Majesties, so as to appear altogether present, yet distant, in order to prevent spies from getting too close. Some of them I recommend to join the parties, dressed in the Narnian garb or armor to hide their identities and to keep the ruse alive for as long as possible. In this way, we could use these search parties as mere 'patrols' to act as if we're searching and vanquishing any enemy presence in the realm, such as, for example, the Fell-Beasts.

"This will serve two purposes: One, it will keep the Narnians from panicking and thus increasing the chances of instability in the realm as well as the likelihood of our enemies finding this out and using this to their advantage. This, of course, cannot happen. And two, it will allow us to search for the Pevensies freely without worry of discovery, since it will be known that it's merely routine patrols and war games in order to bring further stability into Narnia and to increase the bonds between Archenland and Narnia.

"Naturally, those of us among the royal family must remain in Cair Paravel in order to keep the ruse up, or else it might raise suspicion. And we'll only be there for two weeks before returning to Archenland. Of course, if we needed more time, we could extend it to a month, and use the excuse of the young Princes — Corin and I — wanting to stay in Narnia a bit longer and the Pevensies having given their permission to do so.

"That's pretty much all I can think of at this moment…" Cor finished sheepishly.

The audience gave a stunned silence before murmuring amongst themselves concerning the plan. King Lune was more ready with his opinion.

"Excellent idea, my boy!" praised his father, stroking his beard thoughtfully, a proud smile on his face. Cor looked to Aravis, who wore a stunned expression, before giving him an approving smirk.

And it was doing some strange sensations in his stomach, and a quick beating of his heart.

What was this?

He quick shook himself of this as his father called for attention. His father stood up, his huge girth, as always, making whatever action he did look comical, regardless of the seriousness involved, his normally deep and jovial voice turning most solemn, indeed.

"Right! If we're all in agreement, then let us make haste to Narnia and find their lost Kings and Queens. Let us pray that we find them soon and that they've not come to harm." the King turned to the Narnian messenger — a falcon — who was busy combing through his feathers with his beak in preparation for the return journey. "Will this suffice, friend?"

The falcon, Takar by name, stopped what he was doing to tip his beak and spread his wings in the customary sign of respect by his kind. "Arrah! Aye, King Lune! Takar hath no objections to this scheme. If thou wilt permit me, Sire, Takar shalt fly forthwith through the south-eastern gales, as true and fast as one of yon Queen Susan's arrows. Thou can rely on Takar to inform me fellow Narnians of thy plan!"

"The Lion be with you, friend. Safe journey!"

"Arrah! And to thee, Sire! Mayest the winds favor thy back, and mayest the Great Lion be with thee all thy days!" And with that, the great falcon took off and flew like an arrow from a bow.

King Lune then turned to his councilors. "And may Aslan be with you all, and I pray that the Monarchs of Narnia will soon be found and restored to their thrones and our hearts.

"Now let us prepare."

The courtiers dispersed to prepare for the coming journey, and just as Cor was going to leave and make his own preparations, Aravis made her way towards him. She gave him a congratulatory smile. "That was well spoken, Shasta," she said softly, her Calormene accent folding around his old name like a warm blanket. Only in times like this, when it was just them, she would use his old name from their past life, neither of them having quite gotten used to his real name in the past year. It was always a comfort for Cor whenever she said it, her voice like a cool and soothing balm that calmed him whenever he felt the stresses of his sudden heirdom overwhelming him.

Cor shrugged self-deprecatorily, feeling a little self-conscious. "It was nothing. King Edmund deserves the credit; it's how he thinks. Whenever one of us visits, he's sort of been teaching me these kinds of things, along with administration and law. I've just been parroting what he said."

"But isn't that where greatness comes — by walking in the footsteps of and learning from those who have walked the paths less traveled?" she asked him with a raised eyebrow and an inquiring smile. Aravis stared at him thoughtfully, and regarded him for a moment.

"W-What?" Cor stuttered, not used to the intensity of Aravis's gaze.

She simply smiled and began walking away. But before she left, she turned to face Cor, the look in her eyes sincere. "You know, I believe that, when the time comes, you'll be a great king…," before adding with a teasing look, "Prince Cor." With a giggle, Aravis left the throne room for her own chambers to prepare for the journey, leaving Cor to stand there with a flustered and surprised look on his face, before shaking himself and moving on to his own room, deep in thought.

To him, it was her eyes that Prince Cor found to be the most dangerous feature that made up Lady Aravis — those eyes as dark as black pearls.

And yet, Cor couldn't wait to greet those eyes again.

#tcon #tconedit #narnia #cor #Aravis #cor x aravis #the pevensies #type: fanfiction #springexchange.#spring exchange: 1 #by noctusfury #for oflucyandlorien #narnia gift exchange

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a-blue-secret · 4 years ago

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CHAPTER XII

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter XI | Chapter XII | Chapter XIII

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: swearing (Taehyun has the mouth of a sailor smh)

WORD COUNT: 4.8k+

AN: This is a chapter y'all have probably been waiting for! Here, we get to see Taehyun's reaction :)

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

Taehyun strode up to Beomgyu’s door. “Hello, Seojung. Can I talk to Beomgyu?”

“The King wishes to talk to no one,” the guard responded. “He is taking no visitors.”

Taehyun sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell him it’s his vizier, who really needs to talk to him.”

Still, Seojung shook his head. “He has explicitly expressed he does not want to talk to you,” he said.

Taehyun pursed his lips in frustration. “Fine.” He walked away, annoyed. “Guess I’ll have to employ the military myself…”

As Taehyun disappeared round the corner, Beomgyu cracked the door open and peered outside. “Has he gone?”

“He has, sire.”

“Oh good.” Beomgyu breathed a sigh of relief, and stepped out from behind the door.

“Sire?”

“Yes?” Beomgyu turned to Seojung.

“You know that you will have to talk to Sir Taehyun eventually. As he is your vizier, you are obligated to listen to the advice he gives you.”

Beomgyu rolled his eyes, groaning. “Not you too! That’s what Chan said as well.” He crossed his arms childishly. “What if I don’t want to?”

“You have to. It is your duty.”

“Hmph.” Beomgyu pouted, but didn’t say anything. He sniffed pettily, and retreated back into his room.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“Oh, Taehyun!”

Taehyun turned around to see Yeonjun jogging up to him. “Hey, Yeonjun. What’s up?”

“You said you trusted me, right?” Yeonjun asked, once he’d reached the vizier.

Taehyun nodded. “Yes. I did.”

“Well, there’s something I wanted to tell you. Could you come to my room?”

Taehyun thought for a moment. “Uhm, sure. Yeah, I have time. Wanna go now?”

Taehyun followed Yeonjun down the halls and into the room the Aruyeonan was staying. He patiently stood in the middle of the room while Yeonjun paced around.

“Take your time, don’t worry,” Taehyun reassured him. As Yeonjun was pacing, the edge of the curtain snaked around his ankle, and he quickly shook it off. Taehyun raised an eyebrow. The Aruyeonan must be really nervous, if he was losing control of his ability. Finally, Yeonjun ran a hand through his hair and sighed, sitting down on the bed.

“I, uh… okay. I’m ready now.” He took a deep breath, and began to speak.

“Even being the son of a lord, I didn’t have the best childhood growing up,” Yeonjun began. “Father was always too busy to take care of me, and Mother was more interested in being part of the social hierarchy in the court. I guess you could say I was... lonely. I was lonely, but… then gained a brother."

Yeonjun smiled a little." Mother never had another child after me. But, a boy from the West came into our court one day, and our clan adopted him. He went through the whole ability-adopting process and everything; I was so excited at the thought of finally having a sibling. Only, the operation went wrong. Instead of having our ability - inanimate object manipulation – he gained a new one. Matter manipulation.”

“Matter manipulation? What’s that?”

“It’s not an actual ability. When they were doing the operation, the ability mutated and he gained something else. He can manipulate an object’s state of matter. Make solid into liquid, gas into solid, et cetera et cetera, while also changing solids. He can make stone into metal, or wood into stone, or metal into wood. Anything to do with an object’s matter, he could manipulate it.”

Yeonjun smiled bitterly. “The operation also went wrong in the fact that he kept his old ability, too. People were shocked and kind of repelled by it, and asked if we still wanted him in our clan. Mother and Father, being the leading family in our clan, had the last say on the matter. I begged and begged them to let him stay. I told them that if we rejected him he’d have nowhere to go, and would die alone. Eventually, they agreed to let him stay as part of our clan. He became my brother, my adorable little brother. For the first time ever, I had a companion. We laughed together, played together, did everything together.” Yeonjun’s eyes glazed over as he reminisced.

“It was… they were the best years of my life. But as time went on, it soon became clear that things were not going… the best for him.”

Taehyun tilted his head. “How do you mean?”

“You’ve probably heard a lot that Aruyeo is the best at being welcoming to all people, regardless of sexuality or gender or race?”

Taehyun nodded. “Duh, everyone knows that. It’s literally a fact.”

“Well throw that ‘fact’ out the window. Because it’s not true at all.”

Taehyun blinked. “Say what?”

“If there’s one thing Aruyeo aren’t that accepting of, it’s Westerners,” Yeonjun explained. “Being a defensive Kingdom, they automatically dislike people not from the Four Kingdoms. The ‘fact’ about them being welcoming is true to some extent, however. They accept different sexualities, and even different Kingdoms, but they just can’t accept foreigners. They just couldn’t accept him. When our parents died at a young age – an assassination, I tell you, even though we couldn’t prove it – we were left to fend for ourselves. I was barely an adult, and had my younger brother to look after too. He was constantly pushed around and bullied, too, which didn’t make life any easier. It broke my heart whenever I noticed a bruise he tried to hide from me, or when I saw him getting called racial slurs, and he’d just hang his head without saying anything.”

“How– how has none of this ever reached other Kingdoms?” Taehyun asked, in disbelief.

“It’s rare any foreigners even come to Aruyeo,” Yeonjun said. “Anyone that does receives the same treatment my brother did.”

Taehyun shook his head. “That’s awful. Couldn’t you do anything?”

“I couldn’t. They were all more powerful members of the court. Now I think about it, it’s a miracle I even managed to convince my parents to let him stay in the clan.”

Yeonjun paused, looking at Taehyun. “But I’m rambling now. Before I tell you the important thing, though, I just want to make sure of something.”

“Okay…?”

“Do you trust me?”

Taehyun looked at Yeonjun, searching within his fox-like eyes. He searched for any hint of underlying intentions, and hint of sinister motives, any malicious intent in his eye. There was none. All he could see was a truthful, hopeful, slightly nervous Yeonjun, staring back at him with his amber eyes. He took a deep breath.

“Yes. Yes, I trust you.”

“Okay, good.” Yeonjun paused. “Hueningkai is my adoptive brother. Hueningkai, the one who made that marble.”

Taehyun nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“He’s the one who was bullied because he was a Westerner, and because he didn’t have a… normal ability.”

Taehyun blinked, and nodded again. “Okay.”

“And he hated being different.”

“Okay.”

“And so, we became more involved in court.”

Taehyun opened his mouth to say ‘okay’ again, but Yeonjun held a finger up. “Please, just listen. Say a word and I might lose my nerve and not tell you.” Taehyun shut his mouth, and gestured for Yeonjun to carry on.

“We became more involved, to try and gain some protection. He… we… Queen Erajin needed informants. She needed people to tell her things. She needed information about things, and being an informant would give us a crazy amount of security, not only financially but status-wise as well, because we’d almost immediately be higher than anyone else in court, basically preventing anyone from bullying him, and me. It was tempting. We- we took on this role. We… we are her informants. We were those people. Taehyun, don’t run away but… we’re her spies.”

Taehyun tripped over a fold in the carpet and almost fell over backwards. “What the- what the fuck.”

“We were Queen Erajin’s spies. But we’re not anymore! Something weird is happening. Just like Scholar Min said. He caught on quicker than I did. She sent us here to find out any dirt about Gojongja, to see if she could corrupt the people’s view of you. I thought nothing of it. I’ve done things like that in other Kingdoms, and even in Aruyeo, many times before. It wasn’t my place to question. When you told me about all that you’re doing to try and help your people, though, it made me hesitate. You’re so good. There’s nothing sinister or bad about the way you rule. And it made me question, ‘Why was she doing this? What does she gain out of this?’ Something is not right, and yours and Beomgyu’s sincere natures help me realise that. Taehyun, please believe me, we’re not her spies anymore.”

Taehyun was shaking. Either from terror or anger, he wasn’t sure."What the fuck."

"A-and also… Hueningkai, he's here. He's the one I sent a letter to, back during the revel. I was telling him that something was off with Queen Erajin, and that day he also came with me to see what I meant. He’s here right now."

"What the fuck."

"Taehyun, please, I – we – are not spies for her anymore. Well, we still are, but we're not going to report back! Please Taehyun, believe me."

Taehyun gripped the chest of drawers tightly, knuckles white. "What the fuck," he whispered, staring at Yeonjun with wide eyes. "You… you're a spy." He shook his head. "I knew there was something off about you."

"Taehyun, please believe me. We're not working for her anymore, something is seriously wrong with the Aruyeonan court and I don't want to be a part of it."

Taehyun didn't seem to hear him. "You… I told you so much. I trusted you so much. I should banish you. I should execute you, accuse you of treason, make sure you never breathe again. What Lord Hyunjin wrote also makes sense now. It's an acronym, albeit a weird one. C, H, O, I… You're a Jeonju Choi, right?"

Yeonjun started. "Hyunjin's been in contact with you?" He licked his lips nervously, face pale. "And yes. Yes I am."

Taehyun laughed ruefully, looking down. He rubbed his eyes, head in hands. "He told me not to trust the Jeonju Chois. I shouldn't trust you Jeonju Chois." Taehyun lifted his eyes up to Yeonjun. "So then why do I still trust you?"

"Yeonjun?" A voice said, and a tall, young boy entered the room from what appeared to be a hole in the wall. Taehyun visibly flinched, gripping the chest of drawers tighter. This must be Hueningkai, he thought. God, he's tall. He could see the Western features prominent in his nose and eyebrows, but other than that he could pass for a normal person from the Four Kingdoms.

"Did you tell the vizier? That we're the good guys now?"

Yeonjun quickly got up and went over to the boy. "Not now, Hueningkai," he said quietly. "Taehyun's still here, and he's in a bit of a shock."

"But, you told him we're good, right? And he said he trusts you."

Yeonjun ran a hand through his hair, anxiously looking at the vizier who was staring at them, eyes unfocused. "I think… I don't know. I think there's only so much trust can do."

"Can I talk to him?" The boy blinked innocent eyes at Yeonjun.

"What? Hueningkai, no! You're basically a stranger, he's not going to–"

"Hello," the boy said, darting past Yeonjun to walk up to Taehyun. The vizier, who was still holding onto the corner of the drawers for dear life, looked up at him.

"My name is Hueningkai," he said. He held out his hand towards Taehyun, as if to shake hands. Taehyun just stared at the outstretched hand, and after a beat Hueningkai dropped it. "I'm the adoptive brother of Yeonjun. You probably don't trust us. That's a good idea, since we literally just admitted we were spies."

Taehyun found his voice long enough to be able to scoff. "Yeah, no shit. I'm not really sure how to process anything right now. I'm contemplating whether to believe you, or throw you into the dungeons."

Hueningkai smiled kindly. "That's understandable. But, I just want you to think about it. If we were truly going to betray you, do you think we'd admit to this? We're putting our lives in your hands. We are doing this because we feel that what Queen Erajin is doing is sinister and slightly scary, and we want to go against that. We are risking our lives here. If word gets out that we have betrayed Her Highness, we'll be executed. We’re spies, after all. We’re trusted with information that ought not to reach anyone else. She’ll have no choice but to kill us. And yet, we're trusting you with the information. Yeonjun really admires you. He really trusts you, too. Please, believe us."

Taehyun gaped at Hueningkai, before quickly closing his mouth and prising his stiff fingers from the wood. "I… this is so much to process. You're… spies?"

Yeonjun was standing helplessly behind Hueningkai, a doomed look on his face. "Please, Taehyun. I trust you."

"I– I don't know what to do," Taehyun said. "It's just so much to process." He staggered to the door, and opened it. "Give me time."

With those words, Taehyun closed the door, and Yeonjun and Hueningkai were left alone in Yeonjun's room. The elder bit his lip. "Kang Taehyun, please trust us. Something is happening in Aruyeo, and I don't like it one bit."

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Taehyun, once he’d reached his room, collapsed into a chair. His hands were shaking. He dragged a hand across his face, still processing what just happened. A knock came from his door.

“Sire, you have–”

“Cancel it!” Taehyun interrupted. “Whatever I have, cancel it!”

“But sire, they–”

“I don’t care! Cancel everything I have today!” Taehyun yelled. Jungwon was silent.

“Very well, sir.”

Taehyun blinked rapidly, sinking further into the velvet. “He was a spy,” he whispered to himself. “No- he is a spy. And he fucking brought a spy friend with him as well. He was a spy from Aruyeo. I can’t believe I trusted him!” he yelled out, throwing a cushion towards the opposite wall. “I just… gah!” He clenched his hair into his fists. “I almost told him as well!” He whimpered as his fists unfurled themselves, hands shaking too much to have a tight grip on his hair. “I trusted him… I trusted Yeonjun…”

Taehyun sat in the same chair for several hours, until his trembling died down. At that point, it was late afternoon. Hand over his eyes, Taehyun took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “Alright,” he said to himself. “Let’s get this in order shall we?” Taehyun took his hand away from his eyes, but his eyes still remained closed. He gestured with his fingers vaguely into the air as he began speaking again. “So Yeonjun was a spy. Working for Queen Erajin. And he came here to gather – dirt, was it? – on the Gojongja court, to feed back to the queen. But he said that he’s now… what? Good?” Taehyun scoffed. “Judging by how he spoke, he’s been a spy for a while. I bet his allegiance can’t change just like that.” Taehyun paused, and cracked open an eye. “That Hueningkai guy though… he’s kind of right. Why would they tell me if they were still loyal to Queen Erajin? Unless… it’s a tactic for me to let my guard down.” Taehyun nodded darkly to himself. “That’s it. They’re trying to trick me into trusting them, using it as a chance to get to know other secrets.”

Taehyun opened his eyes fully, now feeling more grounded in his thoughts. “Yes, that’s got to be it. I’ve gotten them all figured out. No need to stress. It’ll look bad if I lock them up, so I’ll just ignore them. Yes- I’ll do that.”

He sat up, but quickly deflated again. “Wait… what if they’re telling the truth? In which case it would be stupid not to trust them, because I would be endangering their lives if I didn’t…”

Taehyun sighed, rubbing his nose frustratedly. “Ah, I don’t know.” He paused. “Although, it is more believable that they’re just trying to trick me. But hang on, that would mean I’m okay with the fact they’re spies!” He threw his hands up in the air, leaning back in the armchair. “Ugh, I’m confused…”

Just then, a knock sounded at his door. “Sir, they said that today is the only day–”

“Tell them no! Tell them they have to have another day!” Taehyun yelled. “I can’t do it!”

He went back to muttering to himself. “Wait… but I still can’t trust them. They’re spies, after all. You’d have to be an idiot to trust a spy.” But then he paused. Suddenly, all he could see were Yeonjun’s clear, amber eyes, staring at him with a mixture of nervousness and hope. There had been no trace of an evil or manipulating nature there at all. Taehyun frowned, now more confused than ever.

“Sir, today is the absolutely only day you can talk to the Head General. They won’t be able to come for more than a month after this.”

Taehyun’s mouth pursed in annoyance. “Fine! Fine!” He stalked across the room and opened the door. “Fine! If it’s the only day, then I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll go there now.”

“Sir?” Taehyun looked at Jungwon, pausing his frustrated march down the hall. “Apparently, since you are going in the King’s place, it is necessary for you to take a high-ranking Lord with you to see the Head General.”

Taehyun huffed, still irritated. Then, his frown melted away as he thought. “Hm… fine. Which Lord was it that said they supported us…? Ah, that’s right. Where’s Lord Soobin?”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Taehyun nodded thoughtfully. “Alright, so it won’t be necessary to bring too many people, like you said. I know of a few places they can be stationed, but I’m not sure about the west of Gojongja.”

“Oh, I know a few,” Lord Soobin spoke up. He circled his finger around several places on their map. “Here, here, and here will be good places. They’re not too imposing, but they’ll be obvious. That’s what we want, right?”

“Right,” Taehyun agreed, tapping his chin. “Hm, I don’t know West Gojongja too well, but I have faith in you, Lord Soobin.” He looked up at the Head General. “What do you say?”

“Looks fine to me,” the general responded. “How many men would you say you’d need? We will do our best to cater to your preferences.”

Taehyun turned to Soobin.

“I would say just five men per station,” the Lord replied. “We are looking to simply discourage them. Too many would seem overpowering, but too little would seem odd.”

Taehyun nodded. “Five seems fine to me. Would that be okay with you?”

“Indeed, it is alright with us. I will have the men selected right away. When would you like them stationed?”

“As soon as possible, if you may,” Taehyun said. “Though the riot has died down a little, we can never know when it will flare up again.”

The general nodded. “Of course, sire.” He bowed, and made as if to leave when he paused and turned back. “Ah, when would you like them to retreat from the public? At what stage would you deem it suitable to withdraw the army?”

“Um…” Taehyun tapped his chin. “I’ll let you know when they should withdraw,” he said finally.

“Additionally, when the public atmosphere reverts back to normal would be a good time too,” Lord Soobin added, frowning thoughtfully down at the map of Gojongja. “We should probably install more guards around the palace,” he commented.

Taehyun nodded. “Yes, that would probably be a good idea. I’ll employ some Invisi as well.” He gestured to the Head General. “You are dismissed.”

Once the Head General had left, Taehyun turned to Soobin, and the two left the room as well. “Thank you for accompanying me on such short notice,” he said.

“Oh, it was no trouble at all,” Lord Soobin replied easily. “Indeed, it was an honour.”

Taehyun smiled. “Well, with His Greatness having taken a break for an unspecified amount of time, we may see each other more often.”

Soobin gave a small smile too. “If I may ask, would you happen to know when King Beomgyu will come back to governing the Kingdom?"

Taehyun sighed. "You may ask, but I don't know the answer myself. But I'm going to have to drag him out sooner or later, so he will come back eventually."

Soobin nodded, and bowed. "It was incredibly nice to discuss matters with you, Sir Taehyun."

Taehyun inclined his head. "Likewise, Lord Soobin."

The tall Lord bowed again before walking away. Taehyun stared after him rather enviously.

"He's so tall… I wanna grow that tall."

.・゜-: ✧ :-

“Oh? Lord Soobin?”

Taehyun watched as Soobin flinched, rubbing his eyes vigorously. “Oh, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Taehyun said.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Soobin said, waving his hands in an attempt to reassure Taehyun. “Was there a reason you came here to the library?”

“As a matter of fact, I was looking for you,” Taehyun said. “Do you mind if I–?”

“Oh, of course not,” Soobin said, shuffling over to make room for Taehyun at the table. Taehyun sat down and spread out all his documents across the wooden surface. Soobin scanned through all of them, and looked at the vizier, eyes wide. “You’re replacing council members?”

“King Beomgyu wants it done, that’s why,” sighed Taehyun, carelessly flicking a parchment across the table. “If he hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t be doing this at all. It’s too much hard work. Also, it’s a little confusing, so I wanted to ask you about it.”

Soobin raised an eyebrow bemusedly. “Me? So suddenly? We’ve barely met. Surely there’s someone else you normally talk to about this? Doesn’t the Grand Vizier have smart friends of his own?”

Normally, I’d talk to Yeonjun about this, but… he betrayed me. Taehyun shook his head vigorously. “No. I do everything alone.”

Soobin hummed. “Interesting. Okay, let me see these papers. I might be able to help.”

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Soobin tapped his fingers on the table while chewing the feathered end of his quill. After a while, he set down the parchment and dragged the other documents towards him, reading through them one by one. Taehyun rested his head on his hand, watching as Soobin analysed the papers.

“Apparently word has gotten out that I’m going to be changing the members of the council,” Taehyun spoke up. “I received many letters from the clans involved, telling me off for even thinking such a thing.”

Soobin looked up at him, feathers still in his mouth. “Do you have them with you?”

“Uh… how will they help?”

Soobin held out his hand as Taehyun rummaged through his case. He wordlessly handed the letters over to the Lord. “These clans know things. It’s likely they’ve unintentionally given you pointers as to how to go about replacing council members, while they were reprimanding you. Ah! See, like here.” Soobin pointed to a few lines written in angry handwriting. “‘Why would you go through the trouble of background checking every Lord you see, when you have a perfectly good council, whose backgrounds are already fully checked?’ So whoever you want to employ for the new Council, you’ll need to do a background check first. And look, this one. ‘Finding a Lord to match the one you replaced will be difficult. All the Lords of the current Council are far more experienced than any of the other Lords in court, so there will be no point.’ So for every Lord you remove, you’ll need to replace him with one who matches his skill and intelligence.”

“Yes, but that’s where it gets complicated,” Taehyun explained, reaching for one of the papers on the table. “If you look at the Gojongja citizen rights, it says that everyone’s capability is different and they ought not to be compared to one another.”

Soobin tsked, pushing aside the paper. “No one follows those rules that precisely! It’s fine. Oh look, and here it says that you can’t replace members one by one, and if you want to replace one Lord you’ll need to replace all of them at the same time. So it would be best for you to have all the new members ready before you officially announce that you’re replacing the Council.” He handed the letters back to Taehyun, smiling. “See? That wasn’t so confusing, was it?”

“Now that I have someone else explaining it to me, it’s actually ridiculously easy,” Taehyun admitted, taking the letters back from Soobin. “Thank you. Now all I need to do is find Lords to be part of the new council.” Taehyun paused in the middle of tidying away his papers, sighing. “Oh, that’s going to be hard. Barely anyone is trustworthy right now…”

“I know a few people who I could offer to you,” Soobin said. “If you’d like, of course.”

Taehyun turned to Soobin, eyes wide. “Yes, that would be so helpful! If you could maybe let me know of their names, and I’ll do a background check on them at once! Um, would you, Lord Soobin, like to be on the council?”

“Oh, no, no. Gosh, no! I’d prefer to be a close friend than a colleague,” Soobin said, smiling. Taehyun beamed back, snapping shut his case.

“Thank you so much, Lord Soobin. You’ve been a great help.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Soobin watched as Taehyun bowed happily and walked out of the library. He turned back to the book he’d been looking at before the vizier had arrived, a small smile on his face. He hadn’t expected the scary, intimidating Grand Vizier to look so… cute when he was happy.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Taehyun was outside Yeonjun's room again. After returning to his room, now fully understanding how to replace members of the council, his mind drifted back to the spy, and also the dilemma he was in. Should he trust Yeonjun? Should he lock him up? What should he do?

Unable to stay trapped in one room with his thoughts, Taehyun had wandered through the palace and, while he’d tried his best to stay away, his feet kept directing him towards the spy’s chambers.

And so there he was, for the third time that day, biting his nails nervously, staring at the white door in front of him. It appeared that Yeonjun had gotten rid of his guard: at that moment, it was just him and the door. (Taehyun had sent Heesung away to do other business.) He lifted his hand as if to knock, but quickly retreated, clasping his hands behind his back.

"No, no, no," he muttered to himself. "What am I doing? I should leave before those spies find out I'm here." But still, he stood in front of Yeonjun's door. He scratched the side of his neck with the back of his nails, biting his lip. He shook his head, and backed away.

"No, no no. Let's go." With some hesitation, he moved away, quickly walking back down the hallway before his feet changed their mind.

Inside Yeonjun's (and Hueningkai's) room, the two of them were staring at the glass ball.

"Oh look, he left again," Hueningkai sighed boredly, chin rested on his palm. "I know you said to give him space, Yeonjun, but this is a bit… much. If this keeps happening, we're not going to get anywhere."

"We should let him come to us," Yeonjun stated firmly. "We thrust this news upon him rather suddenly. He's bound to feel conflicted. Give him time. Then, we'll see what his final reaction will be."

"He's not giving much of a clear reaction right now," Hueningkai commented as they watched the vizier come up to the door again. "Look, he's come back."

Yeonjun smacked the younger upside the head. "Stop spying on him," he scolded.

"Hey!" Hueningkai complained, rubbing his head. "We're literally spies, what do you want me to do?"

"Don't spy on Taehyun, that's all," Yeonjun said. "It's immoral. Especially if we want him to trust us."

Hueningkai sighed, putting the ball away. "Fine. But what if he never trusts us? What if we stay stuck in this loop forever?"

"We won't," Yeonjun said. "He may seem unsure now, but Taehyun has a really strong mindset. He'll come to a decision soon."

Hueningkai shrugged, leaning back when they heard the vizier's footsteps retreat yet again. "If you say so."

#court of lies #taegyu #txt taegyu #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #txt taehyun #taehyun #tomorrow x together #txt #txt fanfic #txt fluff #txt angst #txt imagine #txt imagines #tomorrow by together

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years ago

Text

The worst enemy

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

He needs to find out who their rat is. Ra’s hasn’t yet, and it’s hurting their position on this war. The enemy has eyes inside their castle, and Tim is left to fend off the plots his faceless opponent comes up with with that intel. It’s tiring, he feels strung along, and there’s little he can do about that.

Warning: There are some possibly triggering subjects being discussed. Nothing too explicit, but just to be sure, I’ll be adding the warnings deep into the tags. Those who think they might be triggered can read the tags, and those who don’t want to risk being spoiled can just avoid it.

Thanks @iphoenixrising and @the-quiet-carrotcake for giving some parts a read for me. Also tagging @animemangasoul cause you told me you wanted to read this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Despite his careful consideration and analysis, he couldn't quite put his finger into what bothered him so much, to the point of losing focus. Homesickness, maybe? There was something in the walls, surely. Too clean, no mold or blood splatters in sight. His old home at the Wayne Castle had been cared for, but not even an army of maids could compete with hundreds of years of violent legacy.

As everytime he thought of his life before, pain throbbed behind his eyes. It was momentary, come then gone, but it was enough to make him groan a bit under his breath, the sound echoing in the open (too open, no corners to hide if an assassin came… which was kind of ironic here, he supposes) hallway. He knew there were eyes on him, though. His guard, for one, always two feet behind and one to the side. And he was sure he wasn’t the only one sent to (observe his every move) protect him.

Damn, the headache was getting worse. It was too long until tea time.

“I’ll visit my husband”, he decides out loud, for his shadow’s benefit. A kindness they would never expect from a superior, but that he was sure they appreciated.

The only response came from just behind him. A cut out sound that he couldn't identify, but must have been some sort of laugh. Either that or a pained groan.

Smiling, he twisted to look, hands behind his back as he walked in that fashion.

-What? It’s not gross that a man wishes to meet his beloved. It’s a rare day when we meet outside of dinner or council meetings. I’m not a sap; if anything I’m a paragon of patience.

The man doesn’t raise to the bait, as he rarely does, but he tilts his head a bit.

“Yer Highness, please mind your step and watch where y’er going. It’ll be my head on the chopping block if you fall and scrape your dainty white hands.”

He rolls his eyes at the jab, but heeds his warning and turns again to look up front. It’s not without truth, after all.

The part of him dying if Tim were to get hurt, of course. Not about the hands.

He looks down at them as they walk, a little confused. When did they become so though, so calloused? Sure, he must have learned some sort of self defense back when he was young, but he can barely recall it. His shouldn’t be the hands of someone used to the heat of combat, not sheltered as he had been from his birth to his marriage, and yet…

Nothing good comes from thinking that far back, anyway, he decides, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying thoughts pestering him like flies. He’d only end up giving himself a headache, and then Ra’s would send him back to bed with soup and an army of servants to observe his progress. A small smile tugs at his lips; he sure was lucky to get such a loving, protective partner. It was a wise decision, on his Father’s/

“Yer Highness”, calls the voice from behind, dragging him back from his musings rather forcefully. “We’re here.”

Any thought that’s not his husband completely vanishes from his mind. Smiling automatically, he springs into the room, straight to his husband’s open arms. The green and gold cape closes around them, and everything is okay, certain. He doesn’t feel confused, or worried, or observed. Because he’s with Ra’s right now. How could there be anything bad involved in that?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“It’s tea time, y’er Highness.”

“Ah, thanks A. I’ll be going then, my Lord. Will I see you at dinner?”

“Of course, Beloved. I just have to deal with those pesky documents and then I’m all yours.”

Tim’s laughter is like bells. It doesn’t feel actually natural, but he’s not forcing it either. It’s weird, how his voice works sometimes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s a day like any other, when Damian comes to visit. He hasn’t seen his family in quite some time, so when a nameless ninja, covered from head to toe, detaches herself (herself? He’s sure its a her but why?) from the wall and informs him of it, he gathers his royal blue and gold kaftan in a fist so he doesn’t trip and speeds towards the throne room.

So good it’s Damian. He can barely remember Dick’s face, and the Jason from his memories is little more than a broad back, firm shoulders that would carry him all through the palace. Of his sister, he only knows she exists, and that they got along amazingly.

But that’s what loves makes to someone, he supposes. It was bound to happen, more than half a year without seeing them and devoting all his time to think about Ra’s.

But Damian… Damian, he remembers very clearly. Maybe because he can see some of Ra’s in his features, maybe because it was thanks to him that he could actually marry his beloved King…

(He thinks of ancient portraits hanging from the walls, the eyes of Kings and Consorts of old following one’s steps, as the shadows hidden in passageways behind them take note of his every action)

“Your Highness, you can’t pass”, a figure stops him just before the room where his brother and husband are probably already talking. He accepts this for only a moment, so he can catch his breath, kinda surprised by how easy it is to compose himself again; it hadn’t been a short run.

“Step aside”, he orders, back straight and looking into the man’s mask. Ra’s country wasn’t very keen on knights, not like King Clark's Aupuni La. Even Gotham, while not as honorable, had its fair share of white horseman riding to war with honor on their shoulders (although it still maintained its fair share of ninja-like warriors, their elite and probably the only thing in common with his current home). But Alqatala had only a handful (his own A among them), found more use in the shadows that kept well out of their Master’s view while still blocking anything annoying from reaching him when they could, and fiercely obeying His commands on how to defeat them when they couldn't.

It was reassuring, knowing the entirety of the Kingdom’s fighters would lay down their lives (and anyone else’s) for their King’s sake. That meant Ra’s would be always safe… even if all their subjects had to die for it…

Distractedly, he scratched at the back of his head. Maybe the new hair ornaments were irritating the skin there.

“Your Highness, I’m under strict orders to forbid anyone from/”

“Unless your orders explicitly include me, then you should already know I’m the exception to the rule. Step aside. I won’t ask again.”

This time, the man bows deep and moves. Disobeying his Master could have dire consequences; upsetting his Consort most certainly would. And if he did transgress because of His Highness’s orders, then the King might be forgiving.

Head held on high, Tim motioned for A to wait outside the room as he entered.

It was an open space, with long drapes of cloth flowing down the walls like waterfalls of red and gold. Golden torches, shining brightly with their perpetually lit fire, reflected the yellow and orange of their flames in whatever bit of wall left uncovered, making the cream colored stones look as if they were also burning down.

The ground, dark and polished, looked under the fierce light like onix. Maybe it was, Tim had never asked. The flush red carpet, going from the double doors to the steps leading to the throne, completed the feeling of entering some warm, cozy place.

A had told him once it was like setting foot into Hell. Tim liked to think differently, though he could admittedly see what his guard meant.

Looking up, his gaze landed automatically in his husband, raised above the rest of the room in his throne made of gold and rubies. The opulence suited him, and Tim loved seeing him high and mighty like this.

Agh, his head… He would need to ask A for more tea the moment this meeting was over. Maybe he could share some with Damian?

Suddenly remembering his reason to be there, he drags his eyes away from Ra’s. Jade green ones found his almost immediately, and familiar warmth takes residence in his chest.

“Brother!” he greets, happily, steps quickening until he reaches the young man. Damian has grown a lot in the past six months, as far as he remembers. Taller than Tim, shoulders twice as broad and chiseled jaw, his little sibling was now more a man than a boy, although he’d always be the latter in his eyes.

They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding; when Tim accepted Ra’s suit and became his husband, in exchange of him letting Damian return to his Father, to be Gotham’s Heir. Since he left behind his gold and ruby crown, for the onyx and sapphire one he wore now, black and blue jewels enhacing the paleness of his skin and the shine in his love-ridden eyes.

Damian completely ignores the offered hand, arms instead circling around his slimer frame and crushing him towards his chest.

“You’re okay”, he whispers. A swallow, then. Like he wanted to keep going but forced himself into silence.

A little confused, Tim returns the hug, eyes going to his husband over Damian’s shoulder.

The King watches from above, cold, calculating eyes glued to them. Dread pools in his stomach in automatic response, and he shoves his brother away as careful as possible.

“Where are my manners! Brother, you made me forget myself”, a small smile, as apology, and then Tim makes his way up the steps until he reaches his husband. “ My Lord”, he greets, bowing a bit and then quickly grabbing for his arm. Ra’s allows the touch graciously, the almost hostile look in his eyes nowhere to be seen now.

“Beloved. I’m sure we can forgive your small loss of decorum, in this circumstances. Right, Grandson?”

From beneath them, Damian stays with his back to them (in the exact same place where he hugged Tim) for a beat longer. Then, he turns to face the King and his Consort, and offers them both a bow.

“Of course, your Majesty. Your Highness. The fault lies on myself, as I couldn’t contain my joy, seeing my brother after so long”, he straightens from his courtesy, eyes finding his Grandfather’s in what could both pass as a familial gesture, or a blatant show of disrespect; Tim had to give it to him, the plausible deniability was exquisite. ”So long, in fact, our Lord Father was getting worried some ill fate had befallen him.”

Tim stills. He can’t ignore the sudden coldness in the room. Almost on instinct, he shifts a bit, so his shoulder is slightly in front of Ra’s, covering him. Unneeded, since there must be a hundred eyes on them now, their shadows ready to jump in and take any hit for their Master.

The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by his husband, though. He reaches down slightly, hand catching Tim’s. Something in him relaxes.

Damian’s eyes tracked the movement, but didn’t comment in it. Not when his last remark had yet to be answered.

“The joy of those recently joined in marriage can be blinding, Grandson. I’m sure your Oldest Brother would be able to tell you as much, with how many times he himself was wed. Timothy and myself just found it hard to part with one another for hours at a time, let alone a week long trip back to his old Kingdom.”

The mention of Dick brought color to Damian’s face; the red of rage. Tim himself felt a bit uneasy, the mention forcing his mind to come up with the face that had become quiet blurry in his memory. Richard. They had gotten along marvelously, hadn’t them? It was quiet weird they hadn’t met lately.

“I would have loved to see Dick”, he interjects, attempting to force them to look his way instead of each other. His smile is wobbly, and Ra’s hand tightens around his, but he maintains steady eye contact until Damian huffs.

“There have been some issues back home”, he informs Tim; and it’s quiet notable, the way he said the last word, as if reminding Tim that his roots laid elsewhere. Not that he cared where he was born, all that mattered to him was where he had bloomed, and that could only be at Ra’s side. “Father required his help. That’s also why I’m here.”

Something moves behind him, but by the time he turns to look at his husband, there’s nothing amiss. Ra’s seems to be deep in thought for a second, before he smiles beatifically at his grandson.

“We can talk more about this at dinner, you must be exhausted from your travels”, he decides, raising a hand. As if on cue, two shadows appear in the room. Only because he had been looking for them, Tim knows they came from under the red drapes hanging from the walls. How many more were there hidden in that place? Well, he thinks, it’s not like he cares to know either way…” Take the guest to his rooms, make sure to attend to his every need. Come now, husband”, Ra’s directs his eyes to Tim, whose insides flip automatically and smiles in thoughtless response, “we might as well spend the afternoon together.”

They descend the steps, hand in hand. Damian still hasn’t moved, head bowed in respect of the monarchs, waiting for them to leave first. The fist he has over his chest shakes a bit.

“Tea in the gardens? Should I ask for refreshments?” he asks, a little dubiously, following without complains. That’s how he usually spends the hours before dinner time…

Ra’s smile changes slightly, from gentle to hunting. He refuses to answer.

From his face alone, one would guess his husband’s motives were far from chaste; but given that his contract marriage specified Tim was to be untouched until his twenty first birthday, he wasn’t sure why Ra’s was now acting as though he’d ever forgone that particular condition.

They are passing by his brother now, and it's because of that cercany that he can see his knuckles turning white as he hunches even further into himself, a barely refrained gasp. Then he understands.

Before he can stop and ask Damian if he’s okay, reassure him that his Father's orders were being obeyed (in regards of his third son’s marriage treaty, at least), Ra’s is tugging him out of the throne room and towards his own bedchambers. Tim is helpless to his husband’s touch, so he doesn’t resist, but can’t help but turn to him, curious, just before they reach the room.

“Was Damian…?”

“Childish jealousy, I’m sure”, the King dismisses, opening the door for him and closing after they are both inside his anter-chambers. His hand goes to unclasp the brooch keeping his cape steady, removing the garment and taking seat in the low couch in front of the small tea table. “I all but stole you from your family, Beloved. Little siblings tend to yearn after their elders are wed away. I was merely teasing my grandson.”

Tim can’t help but smile in the tea cup a servant hands him, once he’s sat opposite the King. His knight, A, hadn’t followed them inside, but Tim caught flashes of him as Ra’s guided him through the halls, so he knows the man is close by. He relaxes in the knowledge, sweetening his tea a bit before his mind catches up to him.

Why, oh why would he think of A now? He’s with his husband, perfectly safe. Why is the notion of his personal guard being near reassuring him?

Damn this stupid headache. It’s hard to think, and A is not in the room to provide with the painkiller he usually takes at this hour. Unwilling to interrupt his time with his husband by calling his servant, he powers through the pain, smiling at the intense focus being bestowed upon him.

“Damian has grown a lot”, he comments, desperate to distract himself from the throbbing just behind his eyes, “but he’s still a child. Merely sixteen.”

“You are twenty, Beloved”, Ra’s points out, relaxing back into his seat, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Tim’s face. “Although I guess you were always the most mature of your brod. The only one worthy enough to stand by my side.”

“My Lord”, he chides softly, looking at him over his cup. Just because it’s hard to remember his family, it doesn’t mean he wishes to hear them spoken down to by his spouse.

“I speak the truth. Are you denying me?”

The question might sound brusc, almost confrontative, but he’s used to those kinds of inquiries by now. As a response, he bows his head a bit, submissive and elegant, neck in display and crown steady over his temple.

“I’d never betray my husband like that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dinner goes without a hitch, until the moment Damian mentions their family one too many times and Tim has to excuse himself from the table. Juggling his husband’s mood and keeping his brother from being outright aggressive to such an important monarch was a tiresome duty, one he couldn’t wait to shed. Before dessert was served, he decided to retire for the evening.

A, loyal and wonderful, had the tea set ready by the time he reached his rooms. The little brown pill carefully placed on a napkin by his cup was even more enticing than the cakes and sweets the chefs must have served Ra’s and Damian.

“How did you know I was hurting?”, he wonders, sitting down in the chair by his balcony, letting the late afternoon breeze comb his hair away from his face.

“You have that look, yer Highness”, answers the man, carefully dropping the pill inside the cup before handing it to his Master. “Is there anything else I can do for ya?”

The question sounds… charged, somehow. Tim sips his drink. What else would he need right n/?

“Oh”, he blinks, once, twice, then tilts his head up to face his guard. Meeting his eyes over the edge of his facemask, he smiles-. The afternoon feels quite lovely, I’d like to share this moment of peace with my brother. I’m sure he must have long left the dinner table by now, so go extend him my invitation to have tea together.

He can’t be sure, but somehow he just knows A smiled.

He’s careful to pace the drink as he waits. He’s not alone for long.

Damian takes the seat opposite to his, and A is careful to close the balcony doors before the room gets too chilly. The creamy green curtains, white walls and gold ornaments make the entire atmosphere bright, something Gothamites born and raised would despise for it’s unfamiliarity; a wonder that those were the colors painting the room of a noble hailing from those lands. The three of them stay in silence for a while, as the King Consort finishes his cup.

Tim smiles. Damian watches him for a second, before his own smile appears, relieved and more than a bit happy.

“I’m glad to see you doing so well, brother. You had us all worried, back home.”

A soft, almost primly, scoff, “Please. I know how to handle myself, and I’m well protected here. You know I’m never alone.”

Damian dips his head in acknowledgement, but he still doesn’t remove his eyes from him.

“Conflict is brewing”, he goes straight to the point, almost desperate; unsure of how longer will they be able to speak privately. “Father is not willing to look past his transgressions any longer.”

“It won’t reach the Castle.”

“Brother!”

Tim shushes him, letting A refill his cup. No more medicine added, though.

“Damian. Ra’s might be a little… “he doesn’t quite know what to say,” as he is, but he’s by no means dumb. He won’t allow any kind of rebellion to arise in his lands. There will be no war in Alqatala.

Damian falls silent for a minute. A places a plate of delicious looking cookies in the table, on Timothy’s side. Neither brother makes any move to touch them.

“I’ll confront Grandfather about it, tomorrow”, the tone is almost warning. Tim’s eyes narrow.

“Do remember, brother, which side I’m on.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches in silence as Tim takes a cookie and bits softly into it, maintaining steady eye contact with the younger Prince.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then”, he adds, letting the rest of the desert back on his plate, by his empty cup.” I hate to cut our time together so short, after such a long time apart, but I need to rest now; it’s been such a long day. We’ll see each other soon, I promise. And don’t worry about me, silly little brother”, Tim’s smile came back, a little groggy this time.

Damian left after a shallow bow, escorted by A.

In the dimness of the falling night, Tim placed a careful hand on the glass door leading to the balcony.

...The callouses in his hand were still a mystery. Maybe he should ask his husband, tomorrow. He would know.

Ra’s knew everything about Tim. He had too, after all. And if he didn’t, Tim would tell him.

That’s what made them such an harmonious pair, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s called to his husband’s study room the following afternoon, long after Damian’s entourage parted from their Castle.

He quickly removes his sleeping camisole (he’d been bedridden all morning, stroke down by a vicious headache) and dones a green and gold Farasha, simple sandals and his crown, no other accessories needed; as the maids helping him dress often tell him, he needs no outer help to enhance his beauty.

A walks him all the way to where Ra’s is waiting, then bows and swears to wait for him in the hallway. Not exactly his usual behaviour, but Tim can’t waste any brainpower in figuring out his guard, not when he needs to be sharp to attend to Ra’s now.

“My Lord?”, he calls, once inside. The older man is waiting, back to the door, as he watches from the window his Kingdom, buzzing with activity.

“Beloved”, he greets, without turning.” There’s a letter in the desk.”

Tim walks closer, picking the indicated piece of paper curiously.

It’s from Bruce (Father… Dad).

It’s a complaint, a description of the fate that would befell him if Ra’s were to continue on his current path. A demand of retribution, for all the damage already done. A threat, if a veiled one.

The only mention of Tim on the letter, was to inform Ra’s that having his third son inside the Castle wouldn’t prevent him from seeking to burn it to the ground, would Ra’s ignore his generous warning.

Tim’s insides were cold. His mind screaming at him, ‘he wants to hurt our husband’. A small, almost meek part of him wants to ask about King Wayne’s accusations, but the bigger, devoted side squashes this voice ruthlessly; no threat to his husband would be allowed, not even a justified one.

“Are we going to war?”, he asks, tone dry, hands carefully loose on the paper as to not crass it. Confused. He had tea with Damian the day before, he should have noticed something from him, an indication of the dangers coming. And why hadn’t his brother warned him?

His head hurts.

It’s then that his husband turns to examine him. For a few minutes, he does nothing else than to look at Tim, deeply. He returns the look fiercely, protectively; nothing but desire to help shining through. Cold fire burning in icy eyes.

Ra’s smiles.

“It won’t be much of a war, not with one as you on my side, Beloved. Let’s get to planning, shall we?”

There it is, the reason Ra’s married him in the first place. His strategic abilities, his absolute dominance over any battlefield, overturning the board with a simple swipe of his hand. Winning wars without stepping a foot in any battle.

He never thought he’d be using it against his own Father. But Tim knew where his loyalties laid.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim suggested they sent an ambush as soon as possible, before Damian could leave their lands. To kidnap him, and use as leverage to bring Bruce to heel. With his eldest son refusing the crown, the second lost as far as anyone knew and the third, himself, married away (and to an enemy, now, to boot), Damian was his last heir; he could not afford to lose him.

Ra’s also pointed out the Gotham King’s sentimentalism. Tim, tired and with his head throbbing, couldn’t say if that was truly the case, so he submitted to his husband’s intel and left the study to return to his quarters. Ra’s would assemble his own team to send post haste to retrieve the young Prince before he could cross the Alqatala border.

“Tea, yer Highness?”

“Thank you, yes.”

A few sips, before Tim tilts his head to the side.

“A? You know this young guard who switches places with you during the night, when you rest?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do call her, please. I need her to fetch something for me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I have bad news, Beloved.”

That wasn’t what he expected to hear, the second he saw his husband. Weary, he sat in front of Ra’s desk, the cushioned back of the opulent chair helping soothe his uneasiness.

“What happened?”

“My Grandson has apparently grown some brains the last few months; he switched routes, and exited Alqatala by the eastern woods, instead of through the southwestern river he used to come.”

“That trip is twice as hard, why would he choose it?”, the second he spoke, he knew the answer. ”It’s harder to track someone there, than by water. You can see a ship from a long distance, but there’s multiple hiding spots between the trees.”

“That’s what I thought, as well. I sent some of my best trackers to follow, but I have no true expectations of them succeeding; Damian was raised to know those woods like the palm of his hand. Such a rich education, wasted in that boy”, Ra’s laments. Tim moves on instinct walking to stand behind his chair and placing his hands on the older man’s shoulders.

“Damian would not actually expect us to move so soon”, he rationalized, “nor would he know where our people was waiting to ambush him. His change of tracks is more than a little too well timed.

“Are you suggesting we have a rat, Beloved?”

Tim shrugs a little, helplessly ”I think I would remember Damian being wary. We had tea before he left, but I didn’t notice anything unusual. He must have not suspected us of being capable of that, back then. Someone must have alerted him to our intentions.”

Ra’s looks to be deep in thought. He turns a little to face Tim, who returns his look of seriousness with one of his own.

“I’ll weed out this traitor, My Lord. I can’t allow those kinds of pests around you.”

His husband smirks a little.

“I will be the one doing that, Beloved. You focus on forming a new strategy, and we’ll discuss it at dinner tonight. Show me I made the right choice, taking you as mine.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The vase crashed against the wall, and a waterfall of flowers and porcelain fell over the carpet. A maid rushed to clean up, but Timothy paid her no mind, despite the small thread of guilt twisting in his stomach.

The reports over his table spoke for themselves. Territory battles won by the smallest margin, spies derailed from their targets by very convenient distractions, specialized assassins caught and jailed before completing their tasks.

Someone good was working against them.

Tim knew, intellectually, that Bruce was a smart man. But not this kind of smart, not this quickly. There was a new player on the board, and it wasn’t on his side.

“A”, he called, almost growling. The man stepped out of the shadows enclosing the corners of the room, “bring me parchment and paper. I have suspicions on their next move, and I have to alert our troops against them.”

The man hesitated a bit.

“Yer Highness you… don’t look well. Should I bring you tea?”

Tim waved a hand, “After I send this missive. There’s no time to delay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Their next strike was more successful than all their previous attempts. Ra’s had been incredibly pleased, seating Tim on his lap during dinner and feeding him carefully crafted delicacies and praising his Consort’s flawless strategy. They had managed to capture one of King Wayne’s favored warriors, General Brown. Her troops had been slim, and most of them fled at the overpowered sight of Ra’s people, so only she and few loyal soldiers had been caught. They would rott the dungeons until Ra’s needed to negotiate, or decided to execute them as an example for those who thought of going against him. Tim was pretty sure it’d be the first case, though. Brown was too valuable to just off.

The small victory tasted all the sweeter to him when no reports came from this mysterious figure trumping all his previous attempts. Hopefully, this meant they were all the more closer to winning this war without any big loses, as they’ve managed to do until now.

Later, he’s in his rooms and A brings his tea, but no food. It’s okay, Timothy is not hungry. He just drowns the entire cup before springing to his feet, gathering some documents and hiding them under his white shirt, tucked into his slim, open sided, black harem pants.

“Take me to the dungeons”, he demands, hastily throwing on a cape, “I believe it’s time I interrogate the prisoners.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ra’s is lounging in cushions and silk when Tim finds him, a few hours later. He beckons him in, a single finger crooked and a side smile.

Slowly, almost reluctant, Tim sits, his back to Ra’s, and rests his weight on the man. He can feel the strong arms going around his waist, but can’t see his face.

“Is everything alright, Beloved?”

Tim sags against him, hiding his face in the man’s shoulder. He, in turn, rests his chin above his hair, moving the crown around to make space. Tim can feel him smelling his hair and shivers a little. Ra’s hands tighten in response.

“Yeah”, he whispers. Wetting his lips a bit, he tries again, “Yes, I just came from the dungeons. General Brown… I went to see her. Try to get some information.”

The arms stiffen a bit, half a second, before the man relaxes again.

“And?”

“She seemed willing to talk, at first. I think it was the shock of seeing a familiar face”, he touches his own cheek a bit, then lets his hand fall over Ra’s wrist, carefully tracing his pulse point. “I think we were quiet close, back then.”

“Not anymore?”

A delicate shrug, “Not since I married you, My Lord. I choose my side, and so did she. As soon as she remembered we’re in different fronts on this war, she became quite tight lipped.”

Ra’s hums, hand reaching for the tray set by his side. Picking up a chocolate covered something, he offered it to the boy in his arms, smiling when he felt the soft lips closing around the food, almost kissing Ra’s palm where it laid.

“I believe she’ll start to rethink her decision, once a few more of her friends join her in the dungeons. I trust your preparations are going well?”

Timothy relaxed even further in his arms.

“Yes, My Lord. I’ve written some instructions for our people rounding on Sargeant Gordon and his daughter”, he explains, taking the mentioned papers out of his white sleeve” I’ll send the letter tomorrow after checking in some details, and by afternoon, if it all goes according to plan we’ll have two more guests joining General Brown. That means I won’t be accompanying you for lunch, My Lord.”

Ra’s reads the information carefully, and can’t help but squeeze his pretty little genius closer to his chest. Stealing him from his Father had been the wisest of his choices. Giving up his grandson in exchange was by all means a perfectly acceptable loss.

“Do tell your servant to fetch you something to eat, my dear. It won’t do to have my best strategist fall to his own ambitions and starve.”

Looking up at his husband, with the chocolate covered fruit still dancing around his closed mouth, Tim smiled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Over the course of the next few weeks, Timothy’s life became a whirlwind of reading reports, scheming strategies and meeting his husband to inform him of any progress- or loss.

They managed to capture young General Duke Thomas, Sargent Kane and General Gordon. Sergeant Gordon, the woman’s father, had escaped unscathed though, by a well timed counter attack that Tim was still unsure how they enemies had devised.

His new sworn enemy, Wayne’s strategist, was no doubt behind any little rock in his path. Any setback, any mistake. This mysterious person seemed to be always one step ahead, and even Tim’s hard won victories sometimes seemed like they were a gift, an allowance. Ra’s didn’t seem to mind, more than happy with their slowly growing dungeons and Tim’s efforts, so he was reluctant to inform him of his fears; least the King started to regret marrying him in the first place.

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How are our guests faring?”

“Still haven’t as much as pipped, yer Highness.”

“I trust you’ve been exploring all your options while asking.”

“I’m...being very thorough. Maybe if yer Highness went…”

“I don’t know, A… Between the planning and these damn headaches that keep getting worse…”

“Should I bring the medicine?”

“Yes, do that…”

He scribbles orders for his men in parchment, gets so lost in the action he barely notices his servant’s return, merely accepting the cup with the sweet beverage when it’s offered to him.

“I’m not making any real progress like this… You are right, I do need to interrogate them myself. We’re going to the dungeons.”

“Yes, yer Highness.”

“And… be sure it doesn’t reach my husband’s ears. That place is so grim and dirty, and I wouldn't want to… worry him.”

“Yes, yer Highness. This way.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Ra’s orders Tim’s secondary guard to bring him to the throne room in the middle of the night, he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Sleep has been a luxury he can’t quite gift himself with, and his plans don’t seem to be achieving anything. Maybe… Maybe his husband was cross with him. Maybe he meant to… dispose of him.

What he’s not expecting, is seeing A’s kneeling form, bruised and curling into himself, in the ground in front of Ra’s throne steps.

“What is the meaning of this? My lord? Why is my servant here?”, he worries, rushing to the man’s side. A might have been taking care of him under orders, but he had done it wonderfully, and Tim really appreciated his willingness to run back and forth fetching him medicine, tea and food when the pain got too unbearable, or just keeping him company as he raged at his mysterious strategic enemy.

“Don’t”, comes the order from above, cold and final, just when his hand is hovering over a obviously dislocated shoulder. Tim looks at his husband with hundreds of questions in his eyes, but the man answers just one. “Rats shouldn’t be blessed by the touch of the Royal Consort, Beloved.”

Tim shakes his head minutely, taking an automatic step away from A’s form. The guard, his knight, doesn’t even raise his head to look back at him. Tim wishes he did, so he could read the truth in his keppel colored eyes.

But his husband has already told him, hasn’t he? A’s testimony is of no worth, when the King himself is condemning him of treason.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s hours later, when Tim decides to go down to the dungeons once more. He picks Ra’s discarded cape from the ground by the bed and wraps it around him, gathering strength from his husband’s scent.

This... had been their first night together, and Tim laments it was under such painful circumstances. Betrayed by his closest aide, the one who had stayed by his side from the second Tim had married into the Al Ghul’s family, he had all but fallen into Ra’s arms while he watched the guards drag A away, to be questioned at a later date. Down to the dungeons, with every other enemy he had caught.

He hadn’t caught A, though. He had somehow completely missed the man sneaking information out, when said man was always a mere step away from Tim’s own shadow.

Ra’s had been perfect, in the face of his Consort’s distress. He had half escorted half carried Tim out of the room and into his own chambers. Plied him with wine (the same bottle Tim had gifted him what seemed like a lifetime away, but was just the previous night; still closed, but fresh), sharing a cup at first and then exchanging the liquid from mouth to mouth. He had gathered him into his arms, carried him to bed, and made him forget. Making him yield his body as well as his mind to his whims, dominating every inch of him; their pre nuptial contract all but forgotten in the face of such passion. Who would tell Bruce, anyway? And, even if his father knew, they were at war with the man.

Tim had sobbed, after it was all done with. His husband was obviously a gifted lover, and during their shared passion, he had made him drop any thought of his friend; but the second he went to sleep by his side, Tim’s eyes started to water by their own accord.

A had betrayed him.

This stung worse than he could have expected. He needed to see A again, before Ra’s interrogated and later executed him. He… he needed to ask why.

The hallways seemed too deserted, tonight. He could usually catch a glimpse of a shadow sneaking just by the edge of his vision, something moving too fast to properly identify, but slow enough to be sure of its presence. There was none of that. No silent footsteps, no servant hurrying along in a chore, no visiting noble straying from his room in search of a nocturnal thirst with a maid. No eyes following from the portraits on the walls.

It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes one step lightly and breath as shallowly as possible, to keep from making any noise that would disturb it, draw attention to it. The kind that made him signal his guard to walk closer to his back, so the barely noticeable warmth of her presence could sooth his already frayed nerves.

The stairs to the dungeon were barely better. The sounds of chains shaking and rats scurrying around brought a light frown to his face. He suddenly wished to be back by his husband’s side, in the comfortable bed, protected by his arm around his waist.

But he needed to power through. A was just a few cells over, and he wouldn't be able to sleep without his answers.

The man is chained down, both at his ankles and wrists, as per the costum when one of their own goes rouge. Their training too intensive, too dangerous, to leave them to roam freely, even within a cell.

He’s awake, through, despite his wounds. And he’s sitting in the middle of his ‘room’, facing the door. Facing Tim, when he came into sight.

...had he been awaiting him?

“Hey, Timmy.”

The uncharacteristic, carefree call snaps him out of it. Suddenly outraged (both at this man, so calm in his dishonored state, and at himself for being so affected by the situation; he was a King’s Consort, he needed to get it together!), he gathered himself to his full height and did his best to look down at the seated man, fists gathering Ra’s cape tighter around his shoulders, trying to pass it as some sort of royal garment, to get the extra confidence boost.

“It seems your short time in captivity has already started playing tricks on your mind, to make you believe you can address me this way. Or perhaps the certainty of your execution has made your tongue looser. It would not help your situation, but if you prove yourself useful a last time, I might consider appealing to my husband’s mercy.”

A tilted his head. Tim couldn't see his face, half hidden by the mask, half by his hair, but he knew him well enough to read the curiosity in his posture.

“Whose orders are you obeying?”

The young knight stared at him in silence for a bit, before shrugging.

“Yours, yer Highness.”

Tim couldn't help but scoff, crossing his arms and thus allowing the cape around him to part in the front.

“I certainly didn’t command you to betray my trust.”

If A had a response to that, it was halted by the sight of the King’s Consort still in his sleep camisole, hastily thrown over before heading there. The thin fabric did little to hide his neck, where the marks of tonight’s love encounter with his husband were painfully obvious, skin too pale to hide the almost purple signs of ownership.

“I’m sorry you went through that, yer Highness”, he whispered, shoulders slumping and head tilted down for the first time during their conversation.

It was cold in the dungeons, and that’s why Tim closed the cape around him again. Not to hide his marks and sudden vulnerability.

He thought, distractedly, that they must be giving an amusing show to the other captives, for them to be so quiet.

“I can assure you”, he answers dryly, ”that being loved by my husband is no hardship at all. Not like the ones you have coming for you.”

“I would disagree”, his voice sounds deeply pained, and resigned.

A throb behind his eyes made him squeeze them shut. He felt more than heard his silent shadow stepping closer, one hand supporting his arm as the other offered the small pill Ra’s had gotten for him to help his headaches, as well as a flask of something to down it with.

He held both the pill and the silver container in his hands, eyes never leaving A’s figure, suddenly a hundred times more attentive.

“You gonna take it, yer Highness?”

He hums, rolling the brownish pellet between thumb and forefinger.

“I always seem to have a muddled mind, after I do. And I think I want to remember this conversation, A. If that’s really your name.”

“’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me what it really is? Or what “A” stands for?”

“I’m a gothamite”, replied the man, who was suddenly a lot more talkative. Maybe afraid Tim would take his medicine and go sleep it off, taking with him his only chance of getting a more merciful judgement, “born and raised. But unlike all those whinny, dumb witted lords you’ve probably met, I hail from the streets. The darkest parts of the city, where only the most crooked and twisted reside. Where the monsters hide, ‘cause what’s on the street ‘s a thousand times more scary than ‘em. The slums of Arkham spit me out, half chewed and poisonous but still alive despite it all. And from there, I took my name. So I’d never forget, while I’m here, where do I came from.”

“And you still became a knight, a pawn, under the command of someone smart enough to fool even me?”, he scoffs, hand tightening and almost crushing the pain relief- They would only use you and discard you. No, not even that, since we will be the ones doing the job. If you tell me who gave you your orders I… I can give you leniency.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even if…” he hates saying this, shouldn’t be promising it without talking it out with his husband first, but if there was a chance of catching this slippery strategist… “I spare your life?”

A only shook his head. Tim felt unsteady on his feet.

Who would even care, he thinks, before letting himself fall, sitting on the other side of the bars keeping A locked. The prisoners’ opinions weren’t important, and his shadow would not tell anyone else of Tim’s momentary weakness.

(How was he so sure of her loyalty? Why was he so despairing of A’s, his traitorous Arkham Knight, betrayal?)

“You look to be in pain, yer Highness. The medicine…”

Tim threw the goddamned pill as far away as he could, fierce eyes boring into the man.

“Why do you act as though you care for my well being? You surely didn’t when you sold me out to my enemy.”

A sighed, “The only enemy here, ‘s the man whose cape ye’r using to fend off the cold.”

“That man…!”, he stops himself, gathering his composure like one might sand between their fingers, hoping it’d be enough to get a hold of himself. He tried again. “That man is my Lord and Husband.”

“Oh Lord above, I’m so sick of this”, moaned A, leaning back into his hands and looking at his cell’s ceiling. “Yer Highess… Tim. What about we make a deal?”

“With a traitor?”

“With the only viable informant you have.”

He didn’t answer. Curious, despite himself, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of inquiry.

A didn’t seem to mind and straightened his back before crawling towards the bars, until he was pressed flush against them, chains clattering when they collided with the cold metal of his cage.

“If you can figure out who my master is from the clues you have, I’ll… help you fight your enemy.”

“If I could figure that out by myself, don’t you think I would have already?”, he frowns, but there’s no deceit in A’s eyes. Not that it would do he any favors; helpful or not, the only thing Tim had to lose here was time. Unsure, he decided to focus on this puzzle he had at hand.

“Think about yer hands. Think about your home, your true home, not this pit of snakes and lies. Think ‘bout… family. Why are you here?”

He didn’t want to. Those were the kind of questions that always brought forth the headache. But, he supposes, he is already in pain. What is a little more?

He turns the silver flask (that he almost forgot he still had) in his hands, thumbing the engravings on it as his mind wandered.

He was here because Ra’s had wanted to marry him, because he fell in love with Tim when/

...When?

No, that wasn’t right. Tim had made the choice, because… Ra’s had Damian captive. He had sent a letter offering an exchange…

No. Damian’s mother, Crown Princess Talia. She had asked Father… Bruce, for help. But… she had been the one who helped Ra’s take Damian in the first place…

Why had Tim offered marriage? There must have been multiple alternatives, more than one way to get his brother back.

He loved Ra’s, that was why. Or so he thought.

He remembers… denials. Shouts. And a calm, detached voice explaining itself. Explaining…

As a lightning striking a tree and bruning it to ashes, all came flooding back into his mind.

His hands. His home, his family.

The night before his wedding.

A cup of wine, left by Ra’s servants so he could settle his nerves before the next day’s ceremony, held tightly and steadily in his hands.

He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t in love.

A cloaked figure in the darkness of his rooms, ice blue eyes staring deeply into his.

“I’m your worst enemy”, it said, cold like the iron of his Father’s blade, and twice as sharp.

Tim recognized it then, who it was.

The bane of Ra’s existence. The mysterious strategist. A’s master.

A young man, eyes burning blue fire, standing among shadows in front of a mirror.

The fog raised from his mind, as did his hand when he took a long sip of his flask. The sweetness of the beverage brought a grin to his face, as the headache faded into oblivion. No pill needed, after all.

Still shaky but feeling finally in control, he climbed back to his feet. A, on the other side of the cell, did the same, face unsure and searching.

Cassandra, his shadow, reappeared from within them. Taking one quick look at his face, her now unmasked one brightened. She held a number of keys among her swift fingers, stolen from the no doubt unconscious guards upstairs.

“...Yer Highness?”

Tim laughed, unbridled. A devious smirk played on his lips as he watched Cass set to work.

“Formalities don’t suit you, brother.”

Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, before savage glee lightened them. He held his hands before himself, patiently waiting for their sister to open his cell and free him.

“About damn time, Timmy.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim had told Damian not to worry, a long time ago. No bloodshed would flood the streets where he grew up, no hard working servant or innocent peasant would see themselves tangled in the throes of war.

There’d be no war in Alqatala. Because they were going to take it from the inside.

The walk back to Ra’s rooms was done in half the time it took before. Movement all around him as all the prisoners, his people, were set free to take care of whatever of Ra’s soldiers remained in the castle after Tim sent the majority of them to fight an empty battle. He saw Stephanie’s men subduing the less strong warriors, as she and Cass took the better trained ones. Jason was carrying Barbara in his arms, probably headed to wherever Dick and his troops were waiting, somewhere just outside the castle, to act as reinforcements. Duke, Kate and their soldiers, helping the wounded and escorting the enemies to the dungeons that not too long ago housed them.

Tim didn’t focus on any of them, though. He had another matter to attend to.

When he reached the Royal chambers, he saw exactly what he expected; Ra’s, fully dressed, standing at his balcony and observing the figures dancing below. His enemy’s troops taking hold of his kingdom as peacefully as a coup could ever be.

The wine had been chosen primarily because it’s sleepy quality was one he had gotten resistant against, after months of Jason providing him with it. So that Ra’s would be affected and sleep the night away, while Tim got his memories back and could take the last step of his carefully organized plan.

The second, less pressing (but almost more rewarding) reason was spite: the first dose of the drug Ra’s has plighted him with, all those months ago, had been in the wine he was served before their wedding.

But it wouldn't keep a man like his husband, old and well versed in trickery, down for long. Tim had only hoped for enough time to free his allies.

And he had gotten it.

“Beloved. I imagined you halfway through the land, eager to be back in your people’s arms.”

“Don’t insult either of us like this. You know I need to see this done, and I don’t trust anyone else with this particular task.”

“To take me down?”

“To properly gloat, more like it.”

“Now you are the one taking us both for fools. You don’t gloat. It’s unbecoming.”

Tim shrugs, cape flowing behind him as he steps out by Ra’s side, looking down as well.

For weal or woe, those were their subjects.

“You don’t think I deserve it?”

Ra’s does the elegant, royal version of a snort.

“More than anyone, dear one. It was masterfully played, I have to admit. I could find no cracks in your acting.”

Tim turns, back to the balcony edge. The venomous green eyes meet his, then. King and Consort, truly face to face for maybe the first time in months.

They should, by all means, be fighting. But Tim is under no delusions; he knows Ra’s physical strength is greater. His aim is to entertain him long enough for reinforcements to reach them.

Why Ra’s decided to humour him, he wasn’t sure.

“There was no act, Ra’s. Not truly.”

“As much as the thought warms my heart, Beloved, I don’t think you love me. Not like the drug intended. How, pray tell, did you manage to avoid it? I’ve seen you eating food coated in it. Sometimes, by my own hand.”

Tim just raises his flask to him.

“Your only mistakes were taking Damian prisoner, and kidnapping our people to serve under your crown.”

If he was annoyed by Tim derailing his answer, he didn’t show it. Seemingly content to play along, Ra’s gave his words proper thought.

“The first brought you into my castle, taking a vital player from the enemy’s board, the latter gave me the opportunity I needed to go to war with your father. I don’t see anything to regret there.”

Tim took another sip of the tea, now cold, that Cass had filled the bottle with.

“And your greatest overview”, he continued, “what you should have suspected from the first moment, was this:”- the drink inside the flask sloshed when he raised it-” I despise tea.

“I fail to see how this all ties together. Indulge me, dear one? Our time with each other is coming to an end, after all.”

Tim was all for gaining time. And maybe a little part of himself wanted to boast a bit, too.

“When Talia came back to her senses, after the drug you used on her to make her take Damian to you wore out, she came seeking for help to set him free.”

A yell, somewhere far away. Clash of metal and fire in the distance; Ra’s troops were back from their empty mission, straight into Harper and Cullen’s awaiting forces.

“Barbara is most likely the best alchemist out there. With Lady Thompkins’ help, she made an antidote”, another sip. “It goes perfect with tea, disgusting as it is. And Jason, taken for dead and rescued by Talia all those years ago, who nursed him back to health under your own roof without you being the wiser, already had a perfect cover built here. He just needed to say he’d been on a mission to explain the time he’d spent between leaving Talia’s care and me coming here, and then volunteer to care for me. And my sister’s presence can only be noticed by those she wants to; your men had no chance to spot the two enemies among their ranks.”

Under them, the innocents in Alqatala were hanging white bed sheets and clothes out of their windows. A beg to be spared, and show of surrender. From up there, it looked like dots of victory splashed in the canvas of a won over Kingdom.

“I could never act like I was in love with you, for months, and be perfectly convincing. And the only way you’d let me even smell the ink on your important documents was if you believed me completely besotted. So I’d take your drugs each breakfast, and break out of their power with my afternoon tea. Give out orders, converge with my spies, and then eat your food again so I’d be in perfect condition for dinner. If I could help it, each moment spent in your presence had to be drugged stupid. As a side effect of taking the drug is memory loss, every proof of my treasonous acts were hidden from my stupid, submissive, deeply-in-love other self. Truly, it was perfect. Except the headaches from taking so many corrosive substances, so often. Those were a pain to deal with.”

That wasn’t, of course, the only consequence of mixing powerful drugs. His colds were harsher and more recurrent than ever, and he feared the approaching winter with genuine horror, but that was information his enemy didn’t need to have.

Ra’s threw his head back and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, from deep within his chest and charged with unexpected affection. Tim tilted his head, and was taken back when his husband stretched his hands to pull the cape closed over his chest, fastening it with an emerald and gold pin.

“I do have a question”, he forces himself to say, unwilling to blush when Ra’s hands accidentally (or maybe not so much) bumped into one of the marks still fresh in his neck.

“You’ve answered mine, Beloved, so go ahead. Marriage is a give and take, after all.”

The irony wasn’t lost.

“When things started to go wrong in this war, when attacks didn’t reach and our troops failed by a hair… you are not stupid. You must have known the enemy under your roof, the one planning your strategies, was the most likely cause. Why not kill me?”

Ra’s laughed again. Something in Tim’s stomach twitched.

He had won here. So why did it feel like Ra’s had been the one to take the treasure?

“We both agreed to this game, when you accepted my suit and we got married.”

“I was the one who suggested/”

“Shh, dear one. You could have backed out, told your family you regretted your choice, and no one would have blamed you. But you took the drugged wine that night, fully aware of the dangers it contained. You blushed during our wedding, and shed a tear when I took your hand and sat you on my throne to receive your crown. The stakes were high, higher than anything any of us could imagine, and you still decided to risk it. Had I discovered your siblings and drove them out, there’d been no one left to fed you the antidote that allowed this entire operation to begin with. Or I could have chosen to dismiss you to an abandoned wing of the palace, happy enough after taking you from your family and thus removing their most dangerous player, without the risk of giving you power.”

Tim’s throat felt dry. Ra’s thumb pressed in the mark one last time, before he drew his hands away and clasped them behind his back. His eyes as he watched Tim were warm on the surface, but there was an underlying of want under them that made him nervous. The intensity rivaled the one he had felt when they shared bed and love just hours ago.

“You played the game beautifully, played by the rules, and still won. Killing you without proof, with only my suppositions, right as they might have been, would have been like admitting defeat.”

“You still lost”, he bites out, hand unclasping the pin keeping the cape tight and letting it fall to the ground behind him, green and gold silk against dark stone.

Ra’s smile became wicked. No warmth left.

“Had I killed you when I first suspected you”, he whispers, stepping closer, and this sudden intimacy makes Tim shiver, but not from pleasure. “I would have missed the opportunity you gave me tonight. And I got a taste of the full extent of your power, Beloved.”

He closed the distance between them, hands on his shoulders to keep him still. Too shocked to even try to get away, Tim almost forgot to blink.

He had expected rage. He had expected disdain. He had expected a sword to the gut.

He hadn’t expected respect, admiration and desire, hot and piercing like a knife still red from the forge.

Ra’s breath, sweet from the wine and warm against the cold of the night, brushed his cheek as his husband bent closer.

“How marvelous it was, to witness you fight against yourself. Are you the only foe you consider worthy of your attention? Can anyone else come close to even challenge your cunning mind?”

Too late, Tim heard the footsteps approaching their location. His brothers, most likely, here to help him take care of Ra’s.

The beautiful dagger sliding into his body felt almost sensual, intimate. Like he was being touched by a lover, instead of steel. He shivered all the same, the gasp escaping his mouth making Ra’s draw a deeper breath.

His laugh, this time, was low. Private, just between them.

“Do make sure you don’t die from this. I’ll come for you one day, and I expect a proper confrontation then. No more masks between us, dear one. Next time it’ll be just you and me, your force against mine, and my price for trouncing one as enthralling as yourself will be to properly own you, from that day and all the ones that’ll follow.”

When Ra’s hands left him, Tim fell to his knees. He heard the door slamming against the wall and his brothers’ voices, their shouts and curses as they rushed to his aid.

“Until then, my Consort.”

He saw him jumping down, to a certain death if it were anyone else, but could not make a move to follow. The knife had pierced something, he could tell, and the blood soaked his white nightgown and the green cape, still on the floor under him.

It was Dick (Oh gods, Dick, how had he missed his oldest brother, how painful had it been to forget his smile, scent and fierce protection) who gathered him in his arms, his desperate calls that made him snap out of the pain. He barely caught sight of Jason and Damian running to the balcony edge and looking down, then yelling orders to the men that had followed them into the room.

Ra’s had escaped.

But he would not stay away for long, he knew. His last words were both a threat and declaration of intent. It was a new war, one where Tim wouldn’t be fighting for him and against himself. Now, he would depend only on his wits and resources. There’d be no master plan carefully laid and enveloped in deceit. It’d be an all out war, two predators hunting each other, where losing meant death for Ra’s, and for Tim...something even worse.

Ra’s was coming.

Well, Tim thought, closing his fingers around the silver hilt of the dagger, his brothers worried voices fading into nothing as consciousness began to waver, let him come.

I’ll be waiting, my husband.

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jq37 · 5 years ago

Text

The Royal Report– A Crown of Candy Ep 10 Blood and Bread

Come Together

Welcome back and I hope you took advantage of the opportunity to catch your breath because the Rocks family is granted no such reprieve. Fresh off the heels of Jet’s tragic murder by Ciabatta and Calroy answering the question of whether a cake can coup, we pick back up with Theo who’s foiled his imprisonment by making use of the skills Lazuli taught him and magically busting down the door. Then, he makes use of his other knight skills and absolutely eviscerates the shocked guards outside.

He runs for the King’s quarters and, obviously, doesn’t find Amethar as he’s in a smoking crater outside, but he does run into Caramelinda who he immediately informs of the situation as best he can. Cara is confused, even as guards (Cal’s men) show up and start firing on them. She tries to get them to stop on her royal authority but Theo hears a lot more soldiers coming on a Nat 20 Insight and is like, “We need to go.” Cara does her own Insight check and has the good sense to follow him.

They run and Theo takes her into a little secret door in one of the hallways. Just in time too, because Cal walks by all camp-y kids movie villain, clearly telegraphing his intention to kill Cara, and tries drawing her out by saying some bait-y stuff about Amethar but Theo says they should ignore it and they escape down a spiral staircase instead of confronting Cal.

Meanwhile, Ruby (still Invisible) runs across the bridge, feels Jet pass, and keeps running, all the way to the standing stones of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

“Bring her back,” she demands, tearfully. “I know you can bring her back. What is the point of having magic if I can’t bring her back. Please.”

The SPF appears and gently says that the nature of the world is such that she can’t bring Jet back. However, it may be possible to bring them to Jet. Go north to the Stone Candy Mountain, she says. That’s where she is and where her sister is waiting.

Ruby then sneaks her way back to the castle, and sees Kerradin on his way there with about 30 knights. On double Nat 20s, when she gets to the castle, she clocks her dad immediately. Cumulous (who was also in the general area Ruby just came from and can now see where she is based on the glow of her magic, though he doesn’t know it’s her) also sees Amethar. Ruby, horrified at the thought of losing both her sister and father within about five minutes, runs to him.

Liam, still in the lingerie shop, hears Ciabatta wonder where the “witch boy” (Liam himself) went and also gives away some plot info for free: Alfredi has been hanged and she was apparently the only person skilled enough to make watersteel daggers. They’re fresh out. They leave and Liam pops out of the Rope Trick. He checks the glowing chest and sees that all that’s in there is a glowing rock--ambush bait. He then wraps Jet’s body in tasteful lingerie (sure), puts it in a cabinet for later retrieval, and takes her sword and locket for Ruby before stealthing away to find the others.

Amethar, fallen but not Fallen, unsteadily picks himself up, just in time to see the magic glow of his invisible daughter’s footsteps approaching him. “Pops, it’s me,” she says, voice wavering. “I think Jet is dead.” Amethar gives her a huge dad hug as she channels some of his barbarian energy, vowing to kill whoever did this, and their children, and drown their lands. The very stealthy Liam and Cumulous also show up for this--Liam joining the hug and Cumulous just announcing his presence awkwardly when his name is mentioned.

Liam lets them know where Jet’s body is and also gives Jet’s things to Ruby. Ruby takes the sword but haltingly insists that Liam keep the locket--it won’t work alone, and besides, Jet would want him to have it.

Cara and Theo pop out of the secret tunnel and the kids instantly Perception/Insight check her (no doubt feeling burned after Cal’s betrayal). Ruby, on a 23, gets nothing sinister--it’s just her extremely freaked out mom. With that reassurance, she reveals that Jet is dead and Liam chimes in that it was Ciabatta and his men. Liam accusatorily mentions the letter that got them ambushed and Cara claims to not only not know about the letter, but to not know the lingerie lady at all.

Ruby lets everyone know that Kerradin is on his way and Cara says that most of the Castle Candy soldiers have been sent to Castle Many Licks on Cal’s orders. It’s mainly just Cal’s men in the castle--the castle that is currently being redecorated with House Cruller banners. Translation: They’re F’d.

Amethar remembers that Manta Ray Jack is still in the harbor and--after talking Liam out of going rogue and tracking Kerradin--the group decides getting to him and making a break for it is the best bet. They pick a path that will go past the lingerie shop so they can pick up Jet’s body on the way.

They see torches being lit and hear dogs--clearly a search party coming for them--so Ruby uses Prestidigitation to scent the path with anise so the dogs will be confused (which Brennan rewards with disadvantage on tracking checks). Ruby and Amethar are both mortally wounded, but they decide that getting away ASAP is a better option than waiting to tend to their wounds. They roll initiative and head off.

The Sweet Escape

This is another unusual combat episode from Crown of Candy. There’s not so much brawling as there is running and trying to avoid fighting. I don’t think a play by play will be very interesting, so I’ll just give a quick rundown of the highlights.

The mechanics of this is it’s basically a series of group stealth checks until they get to where they’re going. Ruby still has 25 mins left on her invisibility and Brennan lets her cast Mage Hand with a 1st level spell slot to keep Theo’s armor from clinking and giving him disadvantage for seven rounds.

They fail their first round of checks and are spotted by hot-hounds (hot dog hounds, of course). Cumulous tells the group to keep going and he stays behind to handle it. He kills the dogs (yay?) but alerts other guards in doing so. Liam, with his crossbow, headshots the guard about to make trouble for Cumulous and then Cumulous steals his chariot.

Ruby, cantrip master, uses her Mage Hand (feeling a kiss on her cheek as she does) to hold a lantern and send it in a different direction, creating more confusion for the people tracking them.

Cumulous, on a Nat 20 Animal Handling check, fully on purpose (and after taking a bunch of damage from being fired on by ballista) drives the chariot off a cliff.

We’ll get back to that.

Liam, four rounds in, remembers that, oh yeah, he *does* have Pass Without Trace which gives +10 to all stealth checks--a little late but a game changer nonetheless. As he casts it, Cumulous feels the call of something like the Hungry One but not the Hungry One and Liam feels that same weird magical feeling he did running from the Cathedral in Comida.

Cumulous, as he rockets off the cliff (killing the horses in a very Hardwon Surefoot move), uses Fluffwind (his staff) to cast Gaseous Form--dropping his speed to a snail’s pace but saving his candy bacon.

The rest of the group does stealth checks until they make it to Dulcington. Ruby sets a tent on fire with her lantern as a distraction and all of them have to cross a river (the bridge is occupied by guards). Ruby gets a Nat 1 and falls in but Liam gets a Nat 20 and helps her across.

Unfortunately, the initial splash into the river alerted guards and they’re run up on by Ceresian soldiers. But, really, it’s more of a minor annoyance. Between Peppermint Batman critting, Ruby doing some sniping (losing her Invisibility in the process), Theo desperate to not see another Rocks dead on his watch, and Amethar in a full dad-rage, these guys are dead before they even have a chance to attack.

Cumulous drops Gaseous Form and anime sprints back to the gang.

Amethar and Liam grab Jet’s body and then run for the harbor with the others. Theo Messages Jack to get the ship ready because they’re gonna be there in a minute and they need to go NOW.

Enemy archers fire on them but they ignore it and just keep running. When they show up, Jack is confused but they’re like, “Sail now, questions later.”

Brennan says there’s no way they’re gonna get the ship going before soldiers catch up with them but he obviously didn’t count on Amethar going into a rage and just pushing the boat himself, snapping the mooring keeping it docked. As soldiers ride up on them, Ruby uses Mage Hand to help with the few remaining ropes and Theo casts Knock to undo the reins on one of the horses, sending the mounted soldier flying.

They narrowly escape up the river, and that’s where we end our episode.

Thing I’m Concerned About

This is something I mentioned as an aside in the last recap and it seems that it’s become relevant so I’ll be more explicit now. When the tear-away lingerie came up in episode one, it seemed like it was news to Cara (and I’m sure Brennan too because it was obv off the cuff). But last episode, the letter they got seemed to indicate that she was in cahoots with that person. But then in this episode, after a pretty high Insight check that indicated she was on the level, she said he didn’t know about any lingerie lady. Which seems to indicate setup, right? Which would make sense there was nothing at the shop and assassins waiting (assassins who seemed unsurprised to see the kids and not her for what it’s worth). But the way they got the letter, with Cara leaving the room, it seems like she would have seen it. So was that even really her? Is there a bad guy walking around with Disguise Self? If so, Bad! Also Bad! if she actually does turn out to be bad and it was like a DC 30 Insight check to find out, “Surprise! Your mom has been secretly evil this whole time!” Cara calls Ciabatta Imperator before she gets that info and idk if that’s Brennan misspeaking or A Clue and it *better* be the first because I don’t have the energy for *another* betrayal right now. It does seem like exactly the kind of thing you’d use in story to bait the twins if you knew them though, right? Like anyone who even sorta knew them (but especially someone who really knew them like Cal--was he there for that lingerie conversation in episode 1?) would know that was surefire twin-bait.

Don’t love that the SPF is, with different faces and different tactics, corralling everyone to the Mountains. I don’t know what her game is but I Do Not Trust fae. Also, maybe I’m being paranoid but when the SPF said, “Your sister is waiting,” I def had a burst of...your sister as in Jet or your sister as in this bastard child who we know nothing about? Wouldn’t that be such a dirty trick? To skirt fae lying rules (idk if they exist in this world) by talking about Jet a bunch and then saying, “Your sister is waiting,” about a totally different (half) sister?

So who all is working together? Cal last week said he was working with Alfredi and Ciabatta was also working with Alfredi. Plus, Kerradin was there (which, sidenote, WILD. Did Alfredi just take all the heat or something?). But I can't imagine everyone’s goals are fully synced. Ciabatta seems to mostly care for his own power. The Pontifex wants the Ramsian Doctrine fulfilled presumably which puts her at cross-purposes to Cal. What’s everyone’s game here. Is any of this stuff just happening independently of the others and Amethar just has hella enemies/has just lost Concord protection?

All this “like the Hungry One but not the Hungry One” stuff has me suspicious. People have mentioned to me that the noises that Brennan makes when he brings that up are kinda snorty and pig-like which raises two possibilities. It could be the vengeful spirit of Preston--which would go with the ice motif since he’s a peppermint pig and we all know peppermint is the cold magic of candy. It could also be related to the Great Boar of the Meatlands. I can see a pig spirit showing favor to an angry kid who took good care of his best pig friend who then tragically died, even with the cross-food barrier. Idk, we’ll see how this goes.

Ruby, my girl, please don’t do anything rash in your grief. You’re 1000% valid but please stay as levelheaded as you can.

Five More Things

Lol at Ally very confidently saying they don’t have Pass Without a Trace even after being reminded of it and then three turns later being like wait nevermind.

Killshot Thompson at it again with those precision voice breaks at all the most heart-crushing times. I would have loved to have seen Emily’s reactions from video village during the scene with Amethar. And then the, “I can’t lose another. Please,” to Liam? Ugh. My heart.

Ally’s “WHY?” when Manta Ray Jack started ringing that bell was beautiful.

“Another secret black woman,” might be the funniest thing Lou has ever said. And he’s said a lot of funny things. He originated, “Somebody call Wizards of the Coast.”

A second set of double Nat 20s from Siobhan! She also did it in Fantasy High Sophomore Year when freeing Fig from mind control. The only other person I think who’s done it is Lou as Fabian during the arcade battle in FH S1. You can’t really tell because of the way I glossed over the nitty gritty of this ep, but the Nat 20s were really out of control this session. It’s just that, as the cast said in Adventuring Party, Nat 20s don’t get you spectacular things this season. They just mean you get to not die that turn.

#dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #a crown of candy #a crown of candy spoilers #the royal report

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earlybirds-atla-au · 5 years ago

Text

Swords! Ursa?

Ursa hadn’t expected much from the Winter Solstice ceremonies in her grandfather’s temple.

She’d expected maybe a little bit of pomp. A smidgen of circumstance. Solstices were important dates, after all, and her grandfather had been an important man, and with his reincarnation running around it was doubly important to honor him. So Fire Lord Azulon had sent Ursa off to Avatar Roku’s temple on Crescent Island to pay respect. Normally it was Ursa’s father or aunts or uncles doing this sort of thing, but Ursa was Avatar Roku’s granddaughter and a soon-to-be Princess, so she was now obviously the best person for the job.

She expected the Fire Sages to greet her with the respect a young lady of her station required. She expected them to honor her as an important guest and a focal point for the rituals. She expected solemn ceremony, filial piety, and an all-around easy night.

She did not expect to need her swords, but if her upcoming marriage into the royal family had taught her anything, it was that she should always have a weapon handy. Fire Lord Azulon was justifiably paranoid about assassination, and Princess Janya always had several knives up her sleeves despite being a Firebender. Ursa had followed in their example. Just in case.

This was a case.

“Was that an explosion?” she yelped.

“They’re trying to break into the sanctum!” one of the Fire Sages exclaimed, and he and his fellows took off for the staircase. Ursa ran after them, refusing to be outdone by a bunch of old men. Not a single one of them told her she shouldn’t come - she was a Princess of the Fire Nation and the granddaughter of Avatar Roku, and her place was fighting at their side.

Fire Sage Kuzon met them halfway down the stairs to her grandfather’s sanctuary. “The Avatar’s inside,” he said grimly.

“What?” one of the other sages yelped. “How? He can’t possibly know firebending!”

“I don’t know,” Fire Sage Kuzon said, “but there’s been recent fire blasted into the door locks, and there’s a shadow moving inside. He got in.”

The other sages cursed, and four of them ran on up the stairs. The fifth only paused to tell Fire Sage Kuzon, “Don’t tire yourself, sir, we’ve got this,” before running after them.

Fire Sage Kuzon huffed. “I’m not that old,” he muttered, but his next step was shaky.

“Let me help you,” Ursa said, taking his arm. If he’d gone up all these stairs to check on the sanctum, and then back down for help...that would be exhausting.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, patting her hand, and together they made their way upwards.

They hadn’t gone very far when a shout came from below. “Ursa?!”

Ursa looked a few flights down and felt her heart stutter in her chest. “Ozai!”

She had definitely not expected to see her fiance here. Ozai looked just as surprised - he gaped at her for a full three seconds before dashing up the next few flights, leaving behind the cadet and the squad of troops he had with him.

“Ursa!” he gasped when he finally caught up to her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my grandfather,” she said. Fire Sage Kuzon kindly extricated himself from her arm, and she reached for Ozai. “What are you doing here?”

He briefly allowed her to hug him before he shrugged her off, but he caught her hand in his and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “What else would I be doing here? I’m following the - where’s the Avatar?”

“In Avatar Roku’s sanctum,” Fire Sage Kuzon said gravely.

Ozai cursed. “We have to hurry. Zhao!” He turned and shouted back down the stairs. “Hurry up!”

There was grumbling from below.

“Prince Ozai,” Fire Sage Kuzon said, and Ozai and Ursa turned their attention back to him. He had Ozai fixed in a considering look. “Where is your brother?”

Ozai huffed and muttered something about hot springs.

“...Is Prince Iroh coming?” Fire Sage Kuzon pushed.

Ozai bristled. “No, but I’m here, and I can handle this myself!”

Fire Sage Kuzon released a breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. “Of that I have no doubt, my prince.”

There was a commotion from the stairs as Ozai’s troops caught up with them. “Come on,” Ozai snapped at them, “we need to hurry, the Avatar has breached the sanctum - ”

“Wow, I don’t even get an introduction?” the cadet grumbled.

“Zhao, Ursa, Ursa, Zhao,” Ozai snapped. “Let’s go!” He charged up the stairs. Zhao brushed past Ursa, the soldiers followed after, and Ursa took Fire Sage Kuzon’s arm again.

“Come on,” she said, “let’s get up there.”

They arrived to find Ozai and four of his soldiers furiously blasting fire at the sanctuary doors, which were...glowing, because apparently that’s what happened when Avatars convened. Ursa took a moment to take stock of the situation - the five Fire Sages who’d already gone up were standing off to the side, resigned, watching Ozai’s efforts. The rest of Ozai’s squad had taken up positions throughout the hall. Cadet Zhao seemed to be standing guard by one of the columns, which had three people chained to it. Two men and a woman - well, two boys and a girl, they looked to be about Ursa’s age, and they were wearing the strangest clothes she’d ever seen. Strange cuts and strange accessories and blue. Were these the Avatar’s Water Tribe companions?

Well, it looked like they’d captured the Avatar’s entire crew rather neatly, minus the Avatar himself. Despite Ozai’s best efforts. Ursa looked back to where Ozai had just taken another inhale, and Fire Sage Kuzon stiffened for a moment as they watched fireblast after fireblast hit the metal dragons’ mouths. But the door remained stubbornly closed, and he released a shaky breath. “I’m afraid it’s no use,” he said quietly, even as Ozai’s fireblasts became more and more desperate.

“Why not?” Ursa asked.

“It’s the light. The doors are sealed shut. Avatar Roku doesn’t want anyone inside.”

“Maybe my grandfather can help us,” Ursa said hopefully. “Maybe he’ll tell the Avatar to surrender.”

“Perhaps,” Fire Sage Kuzon hummed, and he patted Ursa’s hand. “Thank you for your help, my dear. I’m going to go check on things. Be careful, and don’t get in the way of the professionals please.” He headed towards the column where the Water Tribe people were chained up.

Ursa stayed toward the back of the room, where she hopefully wouldn’t be in the way, but would be able to jump into action if needed. She positioned herself so she could see the sanctum doors, the exit, and the captives all at once. The Water Tribe girl was looking at her, Ursa noted, but she didn’t deign to look back. Future Fire Nation princesses did not need to concern themselves with captive Water Tribe savages.

The girl was distracted shortly anyway, when Cadet Zhao held a fistful of flame in front of one of her companions’ faces. That Ursa wasn’t sure she could ignore, but Fire Sage Kuzon intervened before she could decide what to do.

And that’s how Cadet Zhao wound up standing beside Ursa, watching Ozai very nearly burn himself out against some very stubborn metal dragons.

“Well, Princess Ursa,” Cadet Zhao said.

“I’m not a princess yet,” she admonished him.

He shrugged. “Are you having a nice Winter Solstice?”

“Are you, Cadet?”

“It’s merry and bright,” he deadpanned back, shielding his eyes against the glowing door.

Ozai threw a few more useless fire blasts before he devolved into cursing up a storm. Oh dear. Well, maybe the anger would help him focus. Ozai was very good at channeling his frustrations into his firebending. But still...he had to be ready for whatever was coming.

Ursa took a few steps forward, pushing through the line of soldiers to take her fiance’s hand. “Hey,” she said gently.

Ozai froze mid-curse and stared at her fingers before looking back up at her. “...Hey,” he said back.

She smiled and squeezed his fingers. “We can do this. We can end this here, tonight.”

“We can,” Ozai nodded. “We will.” He squeezed her hand back before dropping it and turning back to the doors. “When those doors open,” he shouted to his men, “unleash all your firebending power!”

Ursa slipped back through the line of soldiers to a safer distance, even as Zhao strode forward to take her place at Ozai’s side. She retreated farther back, back to the columns, kept her breathing steady just in case she needed to firebend. She could just barely hear one of the Water Tribe boys whisper “How’s Aang gonna make it out of this?” and the girl hiss back “How are we gonna make it out of this?” Was the Avatar’s name Aang? Interesting. She didn’t think that was in any of the reports yet.

Her swords were a reassuring weight against her back, and she reached up and slid them out of their sheath with a flourish. Blades at the ready, she fixed her eyes on the door and waited.

It felt like ages, but in reality it was only a minute before it happened.

The smoke started pouring from under the door first. Ursa stared at it in shock - was something on fire in there? Had the Avatar set fire to her grandfather’s temple?

There was the sound of metal sliding on metal, and Ursa barely had time to register that the sanctuary doors were opening before the light hit her eyes. She squinted against it before she had to turn her face aside. In the blinding brilliance of it all, she glimpsed Fire Sage Kuzon and the Water Tribe prisoners doing the same.

From in front of her, she heard Ozai call out, “Ready…”

The light suddenly faded. Ursa blinked spots from her vision, and she looked up in time to see a pair of eerie, glowing eyes gazing at her from the darkness beyond the sanctuary doors.

One of the Water Tribe kids was shouting. “No! Aang!”

“FIRE!” Ozai roared, and he and the soldiers and Cadet Zhao all unleashed streams of flame at the Avatar.

The flames never hit. Instead, they swirled around into a sphere - a beautiful and dangerous defense tactic that master Firebenders used to intimidate their opponents and show off their prowess, one that drew strength from your enemy’s attack.

Ozai realized it the same second Ursa did, and he dropped his flames with a curse. Cadet Zhao and the soldiers were right behind him, they couldn’t give the Avatar more fuel to create a shield with.

But by all accounts the Avatar hasn’t learned firebending yet, Ursa thought, just as the swirling flames lifted.

Ursa expected the Avatar to look like what the reports said - young, bald, arrow tattoos, yellow clothes.

Instead, she found herself gaping at a very familiar man. One she’d never met, but whom she recognized immediately - from the portraits, from the statues, from her aunts’ and uncles’ recollections, from her family altar.

“Avatar Roku,” she heard Fire Sage Kuzon breathe.

Ursa’s grandfather brought the flames in close to his chest and flung them out at the assembled Firebenders. Ozai and Zhao and their men were thrown back, the Fire Sages cried out, the Water Tribe prisoners shrieked. Ursa watched the wall of flames barrel towards her and dropped her swords, swinging her arms forward to divert the inferno around her. The flames were hot enough to make her stagger back a few steps, to make Fire Sage Kuzon curse, to disintegrate the chains that held the Water Tribe prisoners in place. Ursa’s dress singed - but her skin didn’t.

The fire blasted past her towards the wall of the temple, which it unceremoniously exploded. Ursa gaped over her shoulder at the destruction. People were screaming, running - she turned in time to see the Fire Sages bolting towards the stairs, to see Fire Sage Kuzon stumbling behind a column, to see Zhao shouting at soldiers to run, to see Ozai scrambling to his feet.

To see her grandfather chop his arm at the floor, and raise up lava.

“GO!” Zhao shouted, already out the exit.

Ursa grabbed her swords - the metal was burning hot to the touch, but her skin didn’t blister as she slid them back into their sheath. There was a chasm in the temple floor, a chasm rapidly widening filling up with fire and lava, and Ozai was on the other side.

“Ozai!” Ursa shouted, reaching for him. Ozai ran and jumped and very nearly didn’t make it, but Ursa grabbed his wrist in mid-air and yanked him forward. He fell on top of her, and they rolled away from the fiery pit.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “We have to get out of here. Come on!”

Ursa got to her feet and felt herself freeze, because her grandfather was staring right at her. It was hard to read his face, what with the glowing eyes and all, but he didn’t look angry. He looked determined, and focused, and maybe a little bit the way her father looked when he was disappointed.

Then he raised his arms and a spike of lava erupted from the floor and blasted the ceiling off.

“Ursa, come on!” Ozai shouted, and she let him pull her down the stairs.

The lava rose. The temple fell. The Avatar got away.

This was not how Ursa expected the Winter Solstice to go.

She was bundled onto a ship in a daze - the volcano had been pushed into a premature eruption, it wasn’t safe to stay on the island. Ozai stalked around the deck barking orders, and Zhao marched around shouting other orders, and Ursa sat down on a convenient barrel and watched her grandfather’s temple burn to the ground.

Eventually, she became aware of another person standing beside her. She looked up to find Ozai, awkwardly holding a steaming cup. “...Ursa?” he asked.

She opened her mouth, realized she had nothing to say, and closed it.

Ozai pressed the cup into her hand. She sniffed it. “Not coffee?” she asked. The words felt stunted in her mouth, but it was all she could manage.

“It’s jasmine tea,” Ozai said, only bristling a little. “Iroh says it’s calming.”

Ursa felt perfectly calm. So very calm. Too calm.

She had a sip.

“Are you okay?” Ozai asked after a moment.

She took a breath. “That - that was - ”

“Frightening?” Ozai suggested. “Dangerous? More powerful than we were expecting?”

“That was my grandfather.”

Ozai stared at her. Ursa took another sip of tea.

“Ozai, my grandfather just - he just - he - ” She gestured at the ruined temple. “Why?”

Ozai leaned over and wrapped his hands around hers where they were wrapped around the teacup.

“Prince Ozai,” someone said, and they turned to see Fire Sage Kuzon hobbling towards them. Ursa was glad to see him - she hadn’t seen him escape the temple. “I saw the Avatar escape. He was heading northeast.”

Ozai dropped Ursa’s hands. “You’re certain?”

“Yes, my prince.”

Ozai nodded. “We need to get the Lady Ursa back on her own ship.” He gestured towards the ship that’d brought Ursa to the island in the first place, which was thankfully not sunken by the volcanic destruction. “She needs rest, and someone needs to report back to my father.”

Fire Sage Kuzon nodded. “It will be my honor to assist her, sir.”

Ursa reached for her fiance’s retreating hand. “Ozai…”

He leaned in close to her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to go. You have to go. We both have duties to fulfill, and we can’t waste time.”

She closed her eyes against the tears that’d suddenly decided to spring up and nodded her head. She felt Ozai’s lips brush her forehead.

“Take care of yourself,” he whispered. “I’ll see you again.”

“Please be careful,” she whispered back.

“I will.”

She was bundled onto her own ship and refused to leave the deck until the sun had fully set and it was too dark to see Ozai’s ship heading northeast.

“What an eventful Winter Solstice,” Fire Sage Kuzon tutted, bouncing on his toes just a little. The other Fire Sages had gone below deck a while ago, with a servant who had to find a place for the unexpected guests to sleep. Ursa could feel tiredness creeping over herself - the first thing she’d been able to feel, besides shock and confusion, in over an hour.

Ironically, despite his old age and busy evening, Fire Sage Kuzon seemed to have more energy than anyone else on this ship right now. Maybe his adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet.

“Are you alright?” he asked her gently.

Ursa looked up at the night sky. There weren’t any stars. The smoke from the eruption was blocking them out. “Fire Sage Kuzon,” she said, speaking slowly, “why did my grandfather destroy his temple?”

Fire Sage Kuzon was silent for a moment. “That is the question, isn’t it?” he said at last. “Why indeed?”

Ursa kept staring at the starless sky.

“Why do you think he destroyed the temple?”

“I don’t...I don’t know,” she said, a little upset, because that’s why she was asking him. He was the Fire Sage, he was supposed to know these things! “But…”

“...But?”

“He looked upset,” she blurted out.

“Hm.”

“He looked upset, and I don’t know why.”

“Perhaps the Fire Sages haven’t honored him properly,” Fire Sage Kuzon hummed. “I’ll have to meditate on it.”

“Maybe.” Ursa wiped at her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Fire Sage Kuzon asked, concerned.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, I just - he looked at me.” She wiped her eyes again. “He looked at me, and he looked upset.” It was stupid, so stupid, she shouldn’t be crying over this. It wasn’t like she’d ever desperately wanted to meet her grandfather - he was dead and gone, and she had other grandparents and other family members and she had a happy life. She’d never needed him in it. But now it was the first time she’d ever met him, and he’d been upset, and she didn’t know why.

She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home to Hira’a and leave offerings and bow before the family shrine.

“Come, my dear,” Fire Sage Kuzon said gently, guiding her inside towards her cabin. “Let’s get you some rest, yes? You’ve had a hard evening.”

#early birds au

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skepticalcatfrog · 6 years ago

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Shattered Crown Chapter 3

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter Masterpost

Summary: After disaster strikes in Prince Roman's kingdom, he must go on a quest in order to take back the crown that is rightfully his. He will travel with three companions on an epic adventure, gaining many friends and enemies along the way. Those three companions are an intelligent inventor With a mysterious past, a cheerful wizard With a dark secret, and.. the assassin who was sent to kill him two years prior.

Pairings: (Eventual) Prinxiety and Logicality

Word Count: 2,328

Author's Notes: This chapter is probably one of my favorites so far. I don't really have too much more to say.

Roman woke up the next morning in… his own room. His own room? He silently hoped the events of the past two days had all been an awful trick that his mind had decided to play on him. He started to move, but not by himself. It felt like something else was moving him. And that's when he looked in the mirror that was sitting across the room.

The face that looked back at him was covered in scales on one half, and had a wicked snake eye.

“Another day of pretending to be an insufferable annoying little brat…” The scaled boy muttered to himself as he adjusted his sleeves. Roman watched with wide eyes as he saw the other’s features shift into his own. His hair grew darker until it was the same brown as Roman's, his scales disappeared and were replaced with the light dusting of freckles Roman had across his nose, and his eyes went from their original mismatched look to a warm amber color.

“Oh, hello.” The fake prince spoke in Roman's voice, which was strange to hear.

Roman's second in command, Addison, the one he trusted so much, stood in the door.

“How are you feeling, Roman? You've been oddly distant since… well, since…” She struggled to find the right words.

“I don't want to talk about it.” The snake sat on Roman's bed, not looking Addison in the eyes.

“Are you sure?” She asked, hesitantly stepping into the room.

“Of course I am.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Really? Because it doesn't seem that way. In all honesty, you've been acting very different lately. Like you aren't yourself...” Addison stepped slightly closer.

“You aren't going to stop being nosy, are you.” The imposter glared at her. His left eye began to glow a neon yellow, and Addison's eyes glazed over, as if she was in a sort of trance. The glow faded soon after. “I'm not sorry.��

Addison collapsed and the scene went dark.

Roman jolted awake, breathing heavily. The room was dark, and he could barely see anything aside from what the moonlight was shining on.

It must've been from the previous morning, because in the… dream? Vision? Whatever it was, it had been light out. And it was pitch black outside when he woke up.

And that was only the least of his concerns. There was someone impersonating him. Someone who killed his father then threw him out of his home. Plus, his second in command was in danger. Which meant others in his kingdom were too.

He decided, since he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep any time soon, he would rather go to the living room and read a book or something than wait in his room until morning. As he went through the house, he saw the light coming from under the door to the room where Logan was working. He saw Virgil sleeping on the couch. He grabbed a random book from the shelf and sat in a chair in the living room next to the fire place (which didn't have a fire in it). The book ended up being a spell book, which would've been useful… if Roman could do magic. Still, it was interesting to read.

He eventually lost track of time, just sitting there. But it was peaceful, and he wasn't planning on moving.

~~~

Virgil didn't usually sleep at all. Not because he didn't want to. He was tired most of the day, and could use a good rest. No, it was because whenever he slept, his brain decided to torture him with either nightmares or visions of his past that he'd rather forget. And he just couldn't deal with that every night. The only reason he slept that night was because he fell asleep by accident. And it certainly was an unfortunate accident.

~4 years ago~

Virgil stood in an empty training arena across from his... friend, Ethan. In all honesty, Ethan was kind of a jerk. He hadn't always been, but he'd changed since the first time Virgil met him. Virgil had been staying with Ethan's family, who were the royals of a kingdom a bit away from where he'd grown up. He'd been there for 3 years, since he was 12.

Virgil had two shallow cuts on his face, and a couple on his arms. He and Ethan had been training for a while, and Virgil had failed to win even once. He was lucky Ethan wasn't actually trying to hurt him, otherwise he'd be in much worse shape.

“You are quite possibly the worst assassin this kingdom has ever seen.” Ethan plunged his sword into the ground in frustration.

“I'm trying my best, okay?” Virgil responded, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Try harder then.” Ethan approached him, narrowing his blue eyes menacingly. “We can't have a lousy assassin like you in the kingdom if we ever want to get anything done. I shouldn't be able to do your job better than you, and right now I can. No wonder that prince got away from you. I should've just gone down there and dealt with him myself.”

“I could've done it. If he hadn't-” Virgil was cut off by Ethan.

“It doesn't matter what he did. It matters what you did. You really on one skill and one skill only. That needs to change.” Ethan picked up his sword again and put it back in the sheath. He began walking out of the training room. He seemed to be muttering to himself about something, but Virgil couldn't really hear much. Only a few words, such as ‘useless’, ‘dangerous’, and 'power’.

Suddenly, the scene changed.

~1 year ago~

Virgil dashed down the hall towards the library. He burst through the doors and saw Ethan standing in the middle of the room, tending to a glowing ball of neon yellow light. Strong winds seemed to come from nowhere, books flying around the room.

“Ethan!” He called out, his voice seemingly going in one ear and out the other. He ran to his friend and grabbed his hand as he was about to touch the orb.

“What are you doing!?” Ethan turned to Virgil, a terrifying fire in his eyes.

“You can't do this! You'll die!” Virgil felt involuntary tears growing in his eyes.

“No, I won't!” Ethan shouted. “I'll become the most powerful being on this Earth! I'll be unstoppable! Don't you see? This is what I've been waiting for! And I've finally done it!”

“I'm begging you, please don't-” Virgil watched helplessly as Ethan swiftly placed his other hand on the strange glowing object. His vision went white and it felt like he had been struck dead-on by lightning. He could hear Ethan crying out, and his heart hurt more than the rest of him. When the light subsided, he fell to his knees, shaking. He looked at his hands, which were flickering in and out of view, along with the rest of him. He glanced to the other side of the room, where Ethan was curled up on the ground. The sight was awful. He was covered in various cuts and burns and bruises, seeming near dead. Virgil tried to stand up, but immediately fell back to the ground. He crawled over to where his friend was, and rolled him over onto his back.

“...Ethan?” He whispered hopefully, wishing Ethan would do something, even just move. No response. The tears started rolling down his cheeks and he stood up, balancing himself on any object that was there. He had to tell someone, anyone, he didn't know who, but he just had to.

“I told you.” A weak voice spoke from behind him. He turned around and saw Ethan smiling wickedly, sharp new snake-like fangs in his mouth. Scales unfolded across half of his face. He began laughing. “I knew I could do it.”

“Y-you're alive?” Virgil's eyes widened.

“Very much so.” Ethan's eyes were still closed, as if they were adjusting to something. “Weak, but alive.”

He stood up, shuddering with every movement. He opened his eyes, and Virgil held in a gasp. Their normal pale blue color had disappeared. Instead, one was a clear, metallic silver, and the other was a snake eye with a slit pupil, the same color as the glowing yellow orb.

“You, on the other hand, look very much less than okay.” He pointed out, the wicked smile still plastered across his face. “Can I be of any assistance?”

“What… happened to you?” Virgil asked, stepping slightly closer. He was still flickering between visibility and invisibility, but he wasn't as concerned about that.

“Exactly what I said would happen.” Ethan replied bluntly. “I'm officially all-powerful. Now I can do the job that you failed to do two years ago.”

“You're going to kill the prince?” Virgil's eyes widened.

“Of course. The king too, because I know I can. And that means…” Ethan held up his hand, which radiated a yellow light. “You are no longer needed.”

Virgil felt something wrapping around his ankles and looked down to see thorn-covered vines growing around his arms and legs.

“What are you doing?” He asked, trying and failing to break free.

“You're a liability. You were never able to do your job, no matter how much I trained you. So as I see it, the only real solution is to get rid of you.” Ethan explained. At that point, the vines had grown up to Virgil's stomach. “Although, this is going very slowly. Maybe we should... speed up the process a bit.”

Ethan waved his hand, causing a vine to twist itself around Virgil's throat. He then curled his hand into a fist, which made the vines tighten. The thorns punctured Virgil's skin, causing small streams of blood to run down his arms, legs, and neck. He could barely talk anymore, partly because he wouldn't even know what to say. The excruciating pain that was running through his entire body was almost too much to bear. His vision was getting blurry, and he felt light headed.

“Finally, we're getting somewhere! For the record, I want you to know that I never really hated you. That's not why I'm doing this. But, well… if I want things done, I have to do them myself.” Ethan's smile faltered, and he narrowed his eyes. His left eye glowed bright yellow and Virgil grew dizzy. “Goodbye Virgil. You were always my most faithful companion.”

Virgil's vision went dark and he felt himself fall to the floor.

~Present Day~

“Not again, no, I can't!” Virgil woke up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. He looked around the room to see a visibly startled Roman sitting in the chair in the corner. “Oh, I um… I didn't know you were going to be there.”

“Are you… okay?” Roman raised his eyebrow.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” Virgil attempted to steady his breathing.

“You don't seem fine.” Roman put the book he was reading on the small table next to him. “You seemed really distressed. You kept on talking about someone named Ethan. Do you think you'd feel better if you talked about it?”

“I don't know… no one's ever offered to listen.” Virgil shrugged.

“Well, I'm here.” Roman offered. “And I know you don't like me all that much. But at least I'll listen.”

Virgil sighed. “Ethan was my best friend for seven years. He was a nice guy, really sensitive and understanding. We spent a lot of time together, since I lived with his family. He trained me to be an assassin. But after a couple years… he changed. He became mean, and cold, and ruthless. He would tell me how worthless I was, how I was the worst assassin the kingdom had ever seen. I would sometimes find him talking to himself, about wanting power. He wanted to rule the world. Then one day, a couple months ago, he finally figured out how he could. He used dangerous magic, something that could kill him, just to gain power. He activated the spell, and directed it towards himself, and I got caught in the crossfire. That's when this happened.” He became invisible for a brief moment before reappearing. “I couldn't do that before. It's a side effect. And I wasn't even hit directly. What it did to him… it was much worse. He was never the same. He went mad with power, nearly killed me.” He pulled down the high collar of his shirt to expose a scar that circled his neck like a tight necklace. “To this day, I don't even know how I survived. He told me he'd do the job that I never could, and kill you. He disappeared for three months after that.”

Roman took in the story. “What did he look like? Ethan, I mean.”

“Before or after the incident?” Virgil asked.

“After, probably.” Roman answered.

“Well, the only thing that seemed to stay the same was his hair. It was a light, beautiful, fluffy, sandy blond. He had two sharp fangs in his mouth. The left half of his face was covered with reptilian scales. His eyes still haunt me. One was silver, and the other was yellow like a snake's, with a slit pupil.” Virgil described.

Roman gasped, his eyes going wide.

“What's wrong?” Virgil asked, sitting up.

“It was him…” Roman had a fire in his eyes that Virgil had never seen before. “Ethan killed my father.”

#sanders sides #deceit sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #ts deceit #ts roman #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #unsympathetic deceit #prinxiety #logicality #fanfic #fantasy #shattered crown au

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years ago

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Thirty-Six: A Dreadful ___ ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina, blood ] [ Verse: To Rule Them All ] [ AO3 Link ]

As much as his job has centered around keeping unsuitable suitors at bay...that isn’t Sasuke’s only task as the princess’ chosen knight. It isn’t even his primary one. While he may have promised Hinata to help better comb through the various lords and princes her father insists she speak to, there are far more important duties on his shoulders. In such an era of peace, there are sure to be few true threats to the princess’ life. But Sasuke is nonetheless ready to lay down his life in her stead.

...and as time passes, and the pair grow closer as royal and guard, his intent to protect her only deepens.

At first, he assumes it’s little more than time impressing upon him the seriousness of his task. He is the knight chosen from his family’s long line of brave warriors to act as the primary defense of their land’s heiress. He took the mantle proudly, and keeps it still as such. It’s the duty he takes with utmost sincerity, even when Hinata insists he needn’t try so hard. But as time goes on, he can’t help but begin to question why, indeed, he feels the need to act so seriously. It was - and remains - a matter of honor.

...and yet…

There’s more, he’s learned, to this princess than meets the eye. As cordial and demure as she may play before the masses, there’s a fiery spirit held at bay behind the ruffles and ribbons of ball gowns and court dresses. Torn between her role and her dreams, Hinata is a somber soul. Intelligent, kind, stubborn, and even a tad bit haughty when pressed.

In many ways, she reminds him of his mother.

It’s led to a growing fondness for the young woman. At first it was a kind of camaraderie. She would indulge all her secrets in him - voice thoughts she would otherwise never admit. He took that trust seriously, and never spoke her confessions to another.

It pained him that he really had little to confess in turn. It wasn’t a matter of trust, but simply that he held little within himself worth noting. He was a simple soldier: a knight of the realm with a singular purpose for the rest of his days.

While many would balk at the prospect of being a princess’ escort, Sasuke knew upon taking the role how important it truly was.

But as content as he was, at first, in his position...something has begun to irk him as of late. Something he can’t quite put a name to. More and more suitors have been brushed aside at his careful discretion, and yet...he almost feels as though something else guides his judgment of the young men sent to court his charge.

And it strikes him as Hinata makes a comment in passing that he can’t get out of his head.

As they watch yet another carriage leave the castle entrance behind, her gaze is somber, almost wistful. “So much trouble over such a simple thing, isn’t it?”

He gives her a glance. “...was it not your request to evade them, to keep your freedom a while longer?”

“It was. And I appreciate your help in such matters. I was right to put my trust in you. It just grows tiresome, doing this over and over...and soon, I know I’ll have to settle and agree to one.” Turning to him, she offers a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “How much simpler it would be to simply wed you instead. You who I already know, and trust.”

The comment brings a shocked stillness to his chest. “...a knight is...is hardly worthy of a princess,” he manages to stumble in reply.

“Mm, not necessarily. A few have earned the proper honor to become worthy in past kings’ eyes.” Though at first she smiles almost teasingly, it then fades. “...my father, I’m afraid, would not be so forgiving. I’m trapped, I fear, with a shortening list of suitors. But at least it was sweet while it lasted, this year of freedom. I will treasure it as the rest pass slowly by.”

Since then...he’s been unsure what to think. Had she been serious…? Does she truly...wish for such a union? Or was just a passing inclination, a jesting alternative to the fate she finds herself resigned to?

...and what does he feel…?

The notion kept him awake for nights upon nights, turning her words, her tone, her mannerisms over and over in his mind. At first, he balked at the idea. Him, a prince? A king? He’s just...just a knight! Considered the best, true...but would he - could he - ever take on such a mantle? It seemed so far and above his station, he could scarcely comprehend it.

But, more than that...he mulled over his reaction. He’d felt...strange as she mentioned the option. Was he...enamored? Scared? Excited? Repulsed? The shock had been so great, the rest was hard to decipher.

...did he...love her?

After a great many sleepless nights mulling it over, he decided that...yes. Yes he did.

...but what were her feelings for him…?

Suddenly he was off-kilter. Things felt...different around her, though nothing had truly changed. Hinata remained the same as ever, and at first it convinced him that her idea had been just a flight of fancy. An alternative to her fate, but...nothing more.

The thought left him feeling...empty.

Was he truly to spend the rest of their lives at her side, with her just out of reach? How would he endure seeing her wed, settled down, bearing heirs for another bloodline?

At first he shunned the idea, but...in the end, he just wanted her happy. If that meant being kept at arm’s length, then...so be it.

...and yet...he couldn’t help but wonder: was there truly a measure of honor he could earn to find a place among her suitors? Was it possible? Hinata declared Hiashi would never be swayed, but the impossible had happened before in generations past.

He clung to that hope. He just needed a chance…!

Little did he know, it was fast approaching.

“You’ve doubled the patrols, as asked?”

“Aye sir.”

“Good. I’ll not take any chances.”

“Forgive my frankness sir, but...is it really so pertinent to be so...wary? The war ‘tween our lands was over a decade past.”

“Stemming from when an attempt was made to kidnap the very princess their prince is here to court,” Sasuke rebukes. “Think me a fool, but I’ll not let down my guard.”

“...aye, sir.”

Rejoining his charge, Sasuke stands almost stiffly beside her. Something has been stirring in his gut all week since learning of the arrangement.

Hinata, to his chagrin, has noticed.

“I promise, it will be fine,” she murmurs as he stands at her side. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“I’ll be happy once this charade is over,” is his muttered reply.

Soon enough, the prince arrives, and Sasuke keeps his guard up. Introductions are pleasant enough, and nothing seems amiss.

But he doesn’t trust it.

Otherwise, the day passes as typical for the first of the usual several days spent letting the young royals become acquainted. All the while, Sasuke hovers like her shadow, senses piqued and muscles tense.

...but nothing happens.

The guest family is taken to their quarters, and Hinata retires to her own. In the adjoining room, separated only by a thin door in case of emergency, Sasuke does his best to do the same. But sleep refuses to come.

Good thing it doesn’t.

Restless, he rises and takes up his sword, giving her room a silent check in the dark. Windows are tested, the door peered through...and nothing. But he can’t get rid of this awful feeling, and -

Whirling around, he meets a blade in a shower of sparks, throwing back a shadowy figure. At once, Hinata awakens with a gasp, and both swordsmen look to her.

Panic.

Seeing his opponent move, Sasuke does the same, aiming to intercept. But there’s no time to raise his sword, no time -!

The enemy’s steel sinks into his side, his own dropped as he instead grips their arm. Teeth grit, he ignores the warmth of seeping blood and draws in his foe. They grapple for a long moment hand to hand, Sasuke slowly working his hold up to the would-be assassin’s neck. Despite their struggling, it soon weakens...and then they lie still.

By then, Hinata’s cry has roused other guards, barreling in to find the aftermath. A hand to his side, Sasuke barks, “Do a sweep of the grounds, now! If there’s anyone else lurking, I want their head cut from their shoulders!”

The other knights all obey, shuffling out and leaving waiting staff in the wake, looking shocked. “...my lord, your side…!”

Breathing harshly and quickly growing pale, Sasuke lifts his palm. It’s dripping crimson. “...I’m fine. Hinata, she -”

“That’s a right dreadful wound, sir - we’d best take you to the physician, straight away!”

“I can’t leave -”

“I’ll go with you,” Hinata cuts in, stepping up. “Sasuke, please.”

Looking to her with a torn expression, he manages a nod...and then slumps forward, unconscious.

“Quickly, now! Wake the doctor!”

“Come milady, stay close.”

“Fetch another guard for her ladyship! Now!”

As he’s lifted to be moved to the infirmary, Hinata remains at his side, a hand slipping over his.

“Please...hold on…”

.oOo.

Tired @~@ More of the knight and princess verse. Sasuke's finally realized that things aren't exactly platonic between them...right in time to risk his life for the one he loves :'D It's so horribly cliche, but we love cliches in this house, lol Anyway...I'm wiped, it's late, and I'ma go sleep - thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #blood //#to rule them all [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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bottlepiecemuses · 6 years ago

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Top 11 One Piece Hate Sinks (Part One)

Hello One Piece fans (in GrandLine Review voice). Welcome as we dive into the world of your favorite manga. In this case, we look at a group of a top list of hate sink villains. What is a hate sink you ask? While there are tons of villains in the One Piece series, a lot of them are the love to hate variety. However, these scoundrels as defined by Tv Tropes as” a character designed to be disliked for villainous actions, or for ludicrously intolerable traits, usually in lieu of a hateable main villain.”In other words, characters like Doflamingo and Crocodile although are evil to their core, they are too entertaining to truly dislike. These individuals on the other hand, do not have that trait and are shown to be so irredeemably awful that you want to see karma come down on them hard.

8. Wapol

Here we have another king character in the series, but one who appeared much earlier than Stelly. This is Wapol former king of the Drum Kingdom (now renamed Sakura Kingdom) and current king of the Black Drum Kingdom. Even his father when he was still a prince thought he would be an unfit ruler, and he was proven right. During his reign on Drum Kingdom, he was selfish and oppressive to his people. He banished all the doctors, while keeping all but twenty to himself so that he could force the citizens to come to him for help. Not only was he a douche to his own country, but also to other responsible leaders like Cobra, who called him out at the last Reverie for his selfishness. In retaliation, he kicked his young daughter, Vivi, who showed more maturity than him and put on a straight face. This prompted his then bodyguard Dalton to question his loyalty to a man, who handled a situation with less dignity than a child.

He also had a hand in getting Dr. Hiriluk, Chopper’s surrogate father, killed (who died by his own hand) by baiting him into coming to help heal his doctors and later laughing cruelly at his demise. This of course made him a hated enemy of Chopper. Even though he ruled his country with an iron fist, he left it defenseless when Blackbeard and his gang invaded. After spending two to three months on sea as pirates, they returned back to reclaim the throne, which was now occupied by his former subordinate, Dalton and his former citizens, who no longer wanted anything to do with him. Like an entitled child, he did what ever he could to get back what he thought was his. This meant fighting by force, while again confronting Chopper, who defended the castle that now served as his mentor’s tomb. Eventually he was defeated by Luffy, who sent him flying out of the country and again exiled for good.

Afterwards he wandered as a homeless bum, who resorted to eating trash until he by accident created Wapometal, which turned him rich again and regained status in life. He went onto form a company making the metal and married Kinderella aka Miss Universe. While you would think these events would change a person, then think again. Due to how Wapometal made him famous, he was given his own country by the Celestial Dragons called the Black Drum Kingdom. Thus showing he never recanted his old ways and is still shitty person through and through. This can be seen as Reverie, where he can be seen confronting Dalton and Vivi. Thus showing that even when you are given humble pie, it doesn’t mean you will get character development.

9. Stelly

Like Kuro, he takes residence in the East Blue, but was introduce in the Post-Marineford arc in a flashback. At eight years old, he was adopted by Sabo’s parents as a more suitable heir, while he was away from home. As apart of the Goa Kingdom nobility, he looked down on the poor and considered them to be nonhuman. So it’s no surprise he was on board with the idea of burning the Grey Terminal down, even the people -who he considered trash. It shows that even at that young age that he held little value over other people’s lives, especially if he considered them inferior.

He would get even worse as he grew into an adult and climbed the social ladder in Goa, where he married into the royal family, was heavily implied to have murdered the king and crowned prince, and become king. Throughout Revere, it is obvious that the newbie king for all his false bravado is a craven, pompus, spoiled, and sheltered nitwit. When he tries to boss Garp around just because he’s from the same kingdom, the retired marine hero tells him off, which shocks his bean brain. He also believes that he can get in good with the Celestial Dragons, so he could become one as well, even though you have inherit that title. He also displays a racist streak that extends to believing the false belief that Seafolk spread diseases. And probably the most problematic of all is how power hungry he is when it was his turn to place a sword on the empty throne- to symbolize that his country was equal to the others, he instead was thinking of what he would gain by sitting in it. Given what we know about the truth about the throne, this could cause trouble for the Goa Kingdom if he did. He just shows what a king should not be.

10. Kuro

Now this is going way, way back to the beginning. However, this doesn’t mean he’s not worthy addition to the list. Among the early villains of One Piece, there is a certain darkness that this character brings to the table in contrast with the previous ones who got so far, or even Arlong. The reason is because in contrast with how all the East Blue Villains were evil in plain sight, this guy was someone who had his agenda hidden until the Strawhats and Usopp at that time stumbled across his plan. Before he went by the alias of Klahadore and became Kaya’s butler, he was a notorious pirate who faked his own death by hypnotizing his own shipwright, brainwashing him, and letting him be captured For three years, he went under the radar serving Kaya, while planning to one day assassinate her and retire with her fortunes from piracy.

What really makes him hateable is how he views all the relationships and connections as expendable. Everyone from Kaya, Merry, and even his crewmates are convenient tools for him. For his former co-worker Merry, he cut down in cold blood after he defended him from Usopp’s (rightful) accusations. To show how petty he could be, he crushed the glasses that Kaya gave him as a gift. In contrast with his false image he gave to Kaya, he hated serving her for the three years he was under her employ. All to make it clear to her that she meant nothing to him. Even when she said she would give him the money if he said so, he still wanted to stroke his ego by killing her. Even his crew wasn’t exempt from being tossed aside, because to complete his total vanished appearance he would have had to kill them as well. Ironically, he could have had a quiet normal life from piracy if he didn’t think of this plan and even had a group of people to care for him. However, due to his self-centered nature he couldn’t see that and in the end had to go back to the life of piracy, because he wanted more.

11. Hogback

Although this character hasn’t been relevant since his days in Thriller Bark, he still is a good contender for the bottom list. Many people would instead put in Abasalom in his place, but if you could think about it harder then you would realize he was a bigger deviant than him. Before he worked for Moriah, he used to be a world renowned doctor who helped people. However, he only did it for the fame and fortune, while seeing his patients as nuances. He then fell in love with the talented actress, Victoria Cyndry, who died a tragic death but later dug her up and turned her into zombie with the help of Moria.

Before you think this is a sweet moment for him, it’s far from the truth. He only cared for her looks, rather than personality when he made her into a zombie. He also loved the way she was now under his control, which gives off a lot of creepy vibes when you think about the implications. In general, the zombies he helped create for Moria, he saw only as servants to do his bidding. That included his so-called love, Cyndry, who he ordered to lick the floor to demonstrate his power over her. All of this is what drove his former admirer, Chopper, to denounce him as a doctor and free all the zombies under the Mysterious Four’s control. Though he was a lower contender, he was still a piece of work that hit the creep factor.

#hate sinks #one piece #hogback #top one piece hate sinks part one #stelly #captain kuro #wapol

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a-byronic-heroine · 4 years ago

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“That’s usually what he called me, if not my name. It means rat child or literally vermin small child,” she offered wryly. “My nanny had to tell him to call me by my actual name when I was first learning to speak because I thought it was my actual name and not some demeaning pet name for me. I’m sure he would’ve loved nothing better than for me to actually have been named rat child. My mother, I’m told, gave me the name as she died.” She scoffed at his remarks about her father. “Oh, he would love nothing more than to have killed me in my crib by crushing me with his boot. Getting to kill me as an adult and kill a witcher? It would have been like your strange Yule holiday for him. In fact, I’m fairly certain he did try to kill me when I failed the Aen Saevherne and was transferred into the military under his command.” There had been several accidents in her first weeks of military service. Nearly being trampled by mounts that had mysteriously escaped their stalls and got spooked right as she was walking by alone. Several catapult beams snapping when she’d be close by. Always being put on the front mage line when in combat. Willingly throwing her and a small group of mediocre soldiers into an ambush. And then, her father was put in that exact situation. He was sent straight into an ambush, and all the other soldiers had been secretly ordered to fall back. The entire squad was killed.

Then Kly had traded attempts at prolicide for attempts at regicide once she became Queen consort. She’d been nearly killed several times during her early tenure that she figured were Crevan’s work. A new wife freshly killed? Auberon could go into another four or five century mourning period. But Kly’s training with the Aen Saevherne had made her equally as conniving as Crevan, if not possibly moreso. She made alliances quickly and burned bridges just as fast, learned to hire her own personal servants, slaves and guards once they were heavily vetted, and assassinated several of Crevan’s inner circle, murdering an entire noble family line just to ensure her policies were supported only for the replacement to be done in the same way. That first century of her reign was bloody. Almost every day bodies were dropping and replacements were put in place. Then those were dropping too. Eventually she and Auberon’s royal advisors, Crevan included, came to something of a stalemate. The attempts on her life slowed. Became fairly rare. She saw little overt trouble. But the shadow games continued. Her support was crumbling and rising constantly like a tide. She made silent political moves, the occasional assasination, and continued holding the Aen Elle above water. And then Crevan tipped his hand with Zireael. Kly wasn’t a threat if she was childless, forced to concede power to whatever halfbreed Auberon sired with that vulgar abomination. It would be Crevan’s puppet no doubt, and she would become a burden. Auberon would willingly have her executed. Kly had been so consumed with rage that she didn’t consider it was a ruse for Crevan’s real plot. To kill Auberon and take control from behind the scenes. No doubt making her and anyone else he pleased an enemy of the Crown.

At his sarcasm about her liking canines, she huffed and used magic to flick a plume of powdery snow at him. “Very funny, wiseass. Keep it up, and I’ll be returning to our room to warm up alone. You can stay out here with your mystical sugary tree juice you keep telling me about,” she jested as she watched him circling a tree covered in dark amber lumps affixed to the bark. His process seemed amateurish. Wasn’t there a better, more scientific and sure way to get this tree juice? She watched, still bundled in her cloak, as he stabbed something into the tree and twisted it. It reminded her of a tool they used in their tortures back home. “Science makes things easier,” she argued. Maybe instead of eyeballing something and possibly getting it wrong, you could have a sure test that gets it right all the time. Is saving time and failure not something witchers do in your secretive schools?”

She stopped arguing her case for the time being when he stated he’d been successful. She wrinkled her nose as she watched the tree bleed thick goo. Was that the tree juice he kept talking about? It didn’t look appetising. She held out the bucket full of bits and bobs when he started reaching out towards her. He dug around and pulled some spigot looking device and shoved it in the hole he’d just made. He then took the bucket and sat it below the spigot mouth so it collected the tree blood-goo-juice.

“That looks disgusting,” she said as she looked into the bucket with Eskel. But, when she looked at Eskel, her disgust lessened slightly. He looked pleased. Happy. That made it a bit more worth it. He was so rarely genuinely happy. On the road he was always guarded, here he was surrounded by memories that obviously haunted him, when he looked at himself, he was haunted by his scars too. She supposed if this strange ritual made Eskel happy, she could bear it to let him be happy a bit longer. She sighed and nudged his arm. “Well, let’s hurry up and finish your tree stabbing then. You lead. I need you to make a path through the snow so I don’t get my pants and boots excessively snow coated.”

Kly watched as Eskel slept. The poisons he and his brethren called “concoctions” were finally leaving his system. After what that jackass of a braggart Lambert called a “a little slip and tumble down a mountain,” Eskel had been dragged into the main hall bleeding all over everything from a gash in his head. He was covered in scrapes and bruises that foretold of broken bones and was unconscious, being dragged inside by his “brother” to be dropped on the kitchen table. Like it was some sort of gurney. Kly, who had been trying to reorganize the mountains of junk the witchers hoarded while Vesemir “supervised”, had heard the commotion and appeared just in time to see both Lambert and Vesemir forcing bottles of foul potion down Eskel’s throat. Time seemed to come to a standstill as she flung both of the witchers back with magic before running to Eskel’s side, forming a barrier between she and Eskel and the two now very angry and very armed witchers.

After assessing the damage done to him by both his injuries and the poison they forced down his throat and a very heated yelling match between herself and Eskel’s “family”, Vesemir’s demeanor changed. She hadn’t been listening, too busy checking Eskel over, but she heard “protecting”, “cares” and “like a bear” followed by Lambert’s stupid, snide voice. They came to a terse agreement that she would be taking care of Eskel in their room but she would allow the others to check on him. Occasionally. At her discretion. And no more poisons.

Now she was pacing, watching the black tainting of his veins slowly start to fade back to normal and his face beginning to regain its coloring. Her magic had been almost completely drained earlier. Vesemir saw her abilities and put her to work, mending breaks in the wall by holding large chunks of broken-off wall up with magic while Eskel and Lambert used something to adhere it in place. She was unable to heal him fully without harming herself. His injuries were basically healed now save for the more severe bruises, but the old one, Vesemir, said he’d be good as new within just a day’s time. She was doubtful of his assessment, recalling the awful condition his body had been in when she first checked him over. It was a miracle he wasn’t dead.

She was keeping him asleep for now with what little magic reserves she had, unwilling to let him wake either miserable or in pain. But she could sense him fighting it. He was used to her magic. Able to detect it, and she wasn’t willing to use a great deal of influence on his mind. She knew how he felt about her using her magic on him like that. Even during her first meeting, he’d been staunchly against it. So, she withdrew what little magic she was using to try and make him comfortable. Instead, she moved to sit on their bed beside him, brushing her fingers over his scars on his face gently as he stirred.

@wanderingwolfwitcher

#wanderingwolfwitcher #tw mentions of child abuse #witcher verse (interactions)

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fanwright · 8 years ago

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Sokkla, setting: she proposes to him. Feel free to pick the result XD

He is a sworn vassal of this realm and though he has trained under the great sword master Piandao, he was still born a foreigner and was still born a peasant. Don’t be a fool!

Nothing can be gained from this union! No wealth to add to our own! No family of his own with an honorable name! This is social suicide!

He is not handsome in the least. Look how tanned his skin is, as dark as the rice pickers in the fields! Brown like the murky rivers that snake through the jungles. Wouldn’t you prefer a paler man?

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear and you take it as his genuine love for you. Are you so blind as to not see what he is doing? He has everything to gain, a filthy tribal usurper!

You think he loves you, my daughter? Look in the mirror and tell me what you see, behind that mask that covers your scars. You’re a leper. You’re a monster to him!

Hesitating, her hands trembled just above his head as he knelt patiently, his back toward her, head bowed.

A silence fell over the dim chamber deep within the temple, her lips pinched shut, staring at the hairpiece she had made for him in secret, shaking in her gloved hands. Not even the handful of priests she had gathered spoke. She breathed through her nose, the sound echoing through her mask.

And so? When have their petty opinions ever mattered? Why now, of all times, should they care about you?

Her jaw tightened, her courage returning in a surge of fire that seared her soul. She would have this moment. And she would have him.

You are Azula, Second Princess, daughter to Second Prince Ozai, Son of Azulon, and descendant of the great house of Sozin! You conjure the Azure Flame and bend it to your will! The Dragon’s Whiskers shoot from your fingers with ease and strike your enemies with terrible force!

She took a deep, audible breath. She would have this moment. She would have him.

You are no mere leper. You have power, great and terrifying to behold! Greater than your brother, greater than your father! You see, you take what is yours! Why do you hesitate!?

Through the eye-slits of her mask, she looked upon her lover with a tender eye. She would have this moment. She would have him.

The words returned to her and she spoke with renewed assurance, placing the hairpiece on his head and securing it to his topknot, “… and you are bound to me, as I am bond to you.”

She stepped away, letting the long, dark-purple sleeves of her tunic fall over her arms. As he knelt, she managed a painful smile behind her heavy white mask. He looked every bit the prince he had the potential to become.

The head priest stepped forward, a worn and open book in his hand, and spoke the words from the hallowed pages.

“And may almighty Agni bless this union, to join this man with our…” he paused for a moment, choosing his words, “most esteemed Princess Azula, daughter of Prince Ozai, and descendant of that most illustrious house of Sozin.”

As one the accompanying priests joined there voices in a chorus, “Praise be to Agni!”

The head priest looked upon Azula’s lover and turned his palm upward, “Now, rise, Prince Consort and rejoice! May your union be ever strong.”

As he rose to his feet, the head priest looked to Azula. With nod and a subtle wave of her hand, the man bowed as courteously as he could before shuffling off into the shadows of the temple, the dim torchlights barely illuminating his red robes. His subordinates followed him and without a word they disappeared.

With a deep and trembling breath, Sokka exhaled, his voice echoing through the cavernous halls.

He turned to Azula with a relieved smile, “Whew! Well… that’s done. Can I say that was a bit creepy?”

Azula stepped forward, arms folded behind her, a husky chuckle behind her mask, “Do they intimidate you, Prince Consort? This will not do. I did not bind myself to a coward.”

“Right, ‘cause men in flowing red robes and pointy red hoods are completely trustworthy and un-intimidating.”

She stopped in front of him, reaching out a hand to smooth out the creases of his tunic.

“Hm, they do not scare me. We in the Royal Family are their benefactors. They do not forget who pays for the murals that adorn their walls, for the golden idols they so ardently pray to.”

“So… does that mean its official then? Will your family say its okay now?”

She looked to him, her hand resting on his chest, and cursed the mask she wore. She could never see him clearly with it on.

“No. You must prove your worthiness to them, as you have done for me,” she reached up and took his chin between her thumb and finger, “Fear not, Prince Consort, for I am by your side now, and that is all the assurance you will ever need.”

Smiling, Sokka took a step forward and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him. It took her by surprise, but she didn’t recoil, her hands instinctively gliding across his forearms, feeling how firm his hold on her was.

“Aren’t I lucky,” he said, kissing the forehead of her white mask. The gesture didn’t please her.

“Do you mean that?” she said, her voice low, muffled by her mask.

His body stiffened and his arms slowly loosened their embrace around her waist. Azula’s arms sank to her sides. She made to turn away, but instead Sokka gently took her face in his hands. She could see the dim torchlights catch in his eyes through the slit holes. The pain in her chest warm and torturous.

As he removed the dark purple hood over her head he gently clasped his hands over the sides of her mask. Her breath caught in her throat for one tense moment as he removed it. She lifted her eyes to meet his, cold and questioning.

He looked grim, but he couldn’t waver, not now. Her face was a twisted and gnarled remnant of what it once was, her cheek and left eye a mass of pinkish scar tissue, her hair all but shaven, and her lips cut and burned. Underneath the purple tunic and light plates of armor were scars worse than what he was seeing. Sokka still remembered the way her hands shook as he removed her robes all those nights ago. They never went through with their passion on that occasion.

And the royal court, even her own family, called her a leper for surviving the attempt on her life - a hulking assassin with a third eye bent on murdering her. She had his head impaled on a pike and displayed at the entrance of the capital’s gate as the man’s eternal punishment.

He looked at her, taking her cheeks in his hands as her eyes widened, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, Azula.”

He leaned in and kissed her on the lips before she could respond. The sensation sent her heart racing and she opened her mouth, eagerly inviting him, embracing his love as her tongue sought his. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she held him tight, her fingers snaking up his back, pulling at the fabric of his tunic.

As she lost herself to the moment, all the doubt and fear she had for this night seemed to vanish as he nibbled at her scarred lips and kissed a hot trail down her burned neck.

I will have this moment. And I will have him.

#Sokkla #Sokka #Azula #avatar: the last airbender

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ruleandruinrpg · 7 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, KAITLIN!

You have been accepted for the role of SERGEI VALKE. Admin Bree: It’s no secret to anyone who’s been paying the slightest bit of attention that we’ve been not only wanting, but desperately needing a Sergei for quite some time, and this time around, we were blessed with not just one, but two wonderful apps for him, both of which certainly did him considerable justice. But Kaitlin, yours stuck out—yours made me uncomfortable at times, yours made me nearly hate him, but there was still evidence of the boy he once was, too—his love for his little sister, and for his wolf. You brought him to life, you made him real, and you did it beautifully. I couldn’t be more confident in your ability to portray him. Well done! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Kaitlin

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE: 20

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST. I think you guys are fairly familiar with my activity at this point, but personally I’d put it around a 6, maybe 7. There are off days and there are good days! I can be relied on to post at least every other day, sometimes multiple times a day sometimes only once. Depends.

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: You know, but Anton Lantsov & Adeline Calore.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Sergei Valke, for all intents and purposes.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? I mean, what didn’t?

It took me awhile to kind of get in the same headspace as Sergei; he’s undiscovered territory for me, if you will. The more I went back and re-read through his bio though, the more I began to understand what it was about Sergei that kept drawing me in: Sergei is an antagonist, but he is not the villain of his own story – far be it from that, he is the protagonist of Fjerda’s. That is why I love him. He’s a messiah and a monster wrapped up in ice and charm through sheer force of will. He is not some passive villain.

He’s a boy come in from the wild and the curve of his smile got turned into a weapon, the kind-hearted boy he could have become lost to the wild hunt (because I firmly believe Sergei is a monster by nurture, because I cannot make sense of this evil just for evil’s sake – he was conditioned into his belief’s, and Ravak threatens those). Sergei drew me in because as much as he is an antagonist, he is not a traitor. The only comparisons to Judas that an be made are they plot the death of gods-turned-human. But there is no betrayal in Sergei’s deceptions, and as his deception darkened eyes ghost over the royal court, drinking in and learning everyone’s secrets, he tastes the burning pride his true God must feel for him, to be dedicating himself so thoroughly to the cause of his people.

He has left his home, and this time he volunteered, was excited to leave behind the familiar. There will be no valiant escape plan, no possibility of his own survival once he completes his task. This is what defines Sergei – his actions are not done in the name of greed or evil, but in the name of love, in the name of holiness. Sergei Valke sees himself as a hero, a savior; he knows himself to be a martyr in the making.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

I. ROME IS BURNING. There is no surviving the assassination of a God, this much Sergei knows, but all must beware he who is willing to bathe in fire and ice to complete the deed. I think this is what breaks my heart the most, that his death is pretty much a done deal. It’s not really possible for this particular story, I don’t think, for Sergei to complete his goal – but what a fucking curveball would it be if the Fjerdan spy managed to charm his way so thoroughly into the court that he could succeed in his task? Sergei has walked into Ravka with canines bared and axes sharpened, content in his human flesh so long as his blades are sharp enough to cut through divinity. Sergei, who is unbearably unloved, a violent boy teetering on the precipice of giving hope to his nation, may just make a martyr of himself yet. Per ardua ad astra; through adversity to the stars.

II. HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF. On the other hand, having it all be for naught, while heartbreaking for the sake of love for Sergei, would certainly be an excellent plot device for the group as a whole. Finding Sergei out, after having hidden under their noses, would be a very, very motivational event for Anton and Gemma. They are two people who need things to go their way, who need to prove themselves the whirling hurricanes of power they are. Sergei knows he is in his final chapters, that the only words left on the pages of his life are kill, kill, kill. He is the living breathing example of transcendence, of recognizing himself not as the god he once wished himself, but the hand destined to slay divinity – this could very well be his undoing. I’m not exactly sure that I’m looking forward to this particular plot, but I think that there’s a kind of poetry to his death being at the hands of the Ravkan throne, to his death coming before he has a chance to succeed in his mission, a kind of irony. Through his attempts to steal a life, he loses his own, just as his attempts to steal bread to save his life are what made him lose the life he had known as a boy. Tragic, in the most traditional sense of the word.

III.WHAT’S A KING TO A MANY-FACED GOD? This is lame but I’m honestly just really excited about the prospect of writing out his interactions because he is not the mindlessly violent thing that some may see him to be. He is a fucking survivor, and he is charming and clever enough that Fjerda sent him literally into the heart of their enemy to try and take them down. There is no senselessness to his violence, nothing shallow or petty about his intended destruction. Every single move he makes is calculated with no intent to benefit himself, and even as prejudice burns like battery acid in his heart, he is careful to make sure no one at court can see it – and that’s fucking incredible. What kind of suave but simultaneously distant guy must he be? This is something I’d really like to explore more, this deceptive, manipulative, side to Sergei that I think is probably pretty new to him as well.

IV. ENEMIES TO FRIENDS. The least likely plot I can see happening, though certainly the most appealing to be honest just because it will mean my ice baby gets to live (maybe) would be that Sergei finds himself at odds with the teachings his nation had instilled inside of him. This boy, with nothing but murder on his mind, takes a liking to someone at Ravkan court, finds himself attracted to them in the kind of way where their thoughts matter, the things they hold dear to their heart matter to him, and it causes this backlash of stubborn, infectious humanity to take root inside his heart, wrapping itself around the prejudice he so dearly clings to. His prejudice against the witches is all he has ever known, all he has ever been taught, but now all he sees are Grisha, left and right and all around him, and some of them are kind, some of them are funny. I wonder if his isolation, if all the distance between Sergei and Fjerda, could be enough to turn his prejudice to mere dust and ash blowing in the breeze.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE? I love Sergei to bits and bobs, but I do think that his death could be really interesting for the group if it’s in the kind of situation where it was during an attempt on someone important life or something. I couldn’t really see it happening just as an emotional stimulus or what have you, just because he doesn’t exactly have a lot of close friends that it would affect, but as a plot device, it would definitely be beneficial to the group… So yes, basically.

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

I. In his own country, Death can be kind.

“This one’s yours, Valke,” his commanding officer says from the right, the words sending a shiver of excitement down Sergei’s spine where others would have felt fear, should have felt disgust. Sergei felt nothing but pride, and the sneaky smile that crossed his face was a dead giveaway to that fact. His hands should shake, perhaps. His hands should b so slick from sweat that the new gun he’d gotten from Novyi Zem should slip through from his grasp, perhaps. There should be a ringing in his ears, his heartbeat so deafening he couldn’t even hear his leaders voice beside him, perhaps.

Instead he is stone. Instead he smiles.

“Yes, sir.”

Swiftly and without any hesitation, he lifts his boot and kicks down the door before him, knocking it in with a single blow.

He was hit by the stench first.

From somewhere unidentified filters out the rotten smell of dead and decaying things, the putrid scent filth beneath his feet rolling off of the floor in waves and the smell of excrement and curing meats mixes together a nearly toxic concoction. One would think the sight of something such as this would turn his stomach, would make him feel badly about taking something so precious as child from a family who already had nothing, but he felt little remorse for the sins he was committing this day, and Sergei resists the urge to to bring his arm to his face in an attempt to hide from the disgusting smell – he would need both of his hands tonight.

In the dark of night, it’s difficult to see into the small house he’s just entered, lit only by the small flicker of a candle in opposite corners of the first room. Sitting there, or perhaps a better word would be cowering, in the frozen darkness, was a single woman and her daughter. He’d been prepared for this, the sight of suck fragile innocence; the witches always looked like the rest of the humans, some of them even looked like angels sent down to bring their souls to heaven. This girl just looked damp, her clothes and hair slick with sweat, where her mother looked terrified.

He didn’t see the father until it was too late, and a fist had come down hard on his face.

A lesser man would have fallen to the floor from the impact, but pride was a sick, addictive substance, and it burned inside of Sergei like stomach acid. A lesser man would have gotten angry. Sergei got even, reacting to the impact with the kind of cruel savagery that could only be likened to the animal he sought to emulate, flipping his gun around to smash the butt of it into the other man’s own face. There is no remorse in his heart, save for the stains this blood would leave on Sergei’s new boots.

The walls are hard stone and when the man knocks into one, the crack of his head against the roughness pleases Sergei. There’s a flash of silver, a simple flick of his wrist, and suddenly the girl once grasped so tightly in her mother’s arms stood at the whim of his blade.

He opens his mouth then, his voice patient, unhurried, as head dips down to speak in the small girls ear. The way she trembles almost amuses him – why did they bother to liken themselves to Gods when they shuddered at the simple sight of a blade? “You’d do well not to fight me, or my friend over there is going to slip his knife between your Pa’s ribs.” And as though they were one mind, one body, his partner pushed the blade more firmly against the father’s waist – a threat and a promise all wrapped in one.

Shows of power, after all, were nothing if not useful.

There are two more men standing in the doorway, another fresh-faced first-timer like himself, and the other more seasoned. It wasn’t difficult to tell which was which. Pathetic, he thought absentmindedly. Sergei liked being the best, but he’d have preferred not to go on a mission with a puppy. He shakes his head once and then turns his gaze away from his men, beginning to push the girl in his grasp towards the doorway. No one could have predicted what would happen next. After all, the Drüskelle were supposed to be good at catching Grisha.

His leader, once someone admired and revered by Sergei, dropped his blade and began clutching at his throat, his other hand clawing at his chest as though desperate to rip out the beating organ there. “Bloodletter,” hissed Sergei immediately, shoving the girl into the wall hard enough that he hoped she would lose consciousness.

Distantly, as though a thousand insignificant miles away, he heard the mother screaming.

What happened next wasn’t clear. They say your instincts kick in, that every detail can be remembered with painful clarity, but it was like some other person had taken over Sergei’s body, and when it was over they’d taken the memories with them. One minute the witch was killing his commanding officer and the next Sergei had buried his silver dagger in the man’s voice box. One minute he was Sergei, and the next he was Death riding in on a pale white horse, black cape billowing out behind him.

Word spread fast around the Ice Court, the story of how a young Drüskelle successfully took out a full-grown witch on his first try. It was sad, really, how impressed his fellow soldiers were with the story. They should all be capable of the same thing.

After all, Sergei had thought the whole thing fairly easy.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

I. You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear. Sergei Valke was not always named as such. Once there was a boy named Dimitri Sergei Halvorsen, a half-moon boy whose idea of the honeyed warmth of love had been long ago warped by the harsh cruelties of ice and hunger. A peasant boy, with hands stained red by thievery, lips more often blue than pink – an unfortunate side effect of spending every night cold and wanting. Dimitri, wolf-boy, drawn taut and savage by a squalid home that could barely be called a home. Not only a middle son, but a young middle son, Dimitri was abandoned before he was born, more often left to use his own wits and wiles to secure food than he could rely on the woman called mother; he doesn’t blame her, not anymore, not when he remembers the way his father used to scold him and leave bruises on her arms, but at the time he had blamed her, and it had sent him running and running and running until one day he was caught. He was caught and using the very wits his mother had forced him to hone, he became someone else, someone forged anew. No longer Dimitri, the poor peasant boy who had frostbite more times than he could count on his fingers and toes. Instead he took the name Sergei Valke; his last name for its proximity to the animal with which he identified, the volk, and Sergei, so that he might take a small piece of his old world and build himself something new from it. Dimitri: earth-lover. Sergei: protector. Halvorsen: firm.

II. You are going to break your promise. I understand. He had promised to always protect her. Maya was his safe haven, a field of poppies not yet turned into poison. His younger sister, the seventh child of his family, born a mere nine months after him. It was Maya that kept his heart softened, not quite as black as the business of starvation should have made it. Dima, she’d cry out, fling herself into his arms when he’d return from his misadventures away from her. He had promised to always protect her, but even he couldn’t protect her from a bad heart and deadly frost. One day her heart just stopped beating, and his tether to those he was meant to call family came to a snap. He can still see the soft haven of her starlit curls as they bounce around her heart-shaped face. If he presses his hand to his chest just so and closes his eyes tightly, one palm laid flat in the middle, he can almost remember the way it felt when she tucked her head into him, can feel the wound where soft light still seeps in. Maya: illusion.

III. I savor bitterness - it is born of experience. It is the privilege of one who has truly lived. He walked for weeks, not what felt like weeks, but actual weeks, perhaps even months passed by before Dimitri would reach his final destination – not that he had really been walking with any semblance of a plan or destination in mind. He set off, leaving behind what “family” he had left with Kari nipping at his heels, and for the first time in his life he was almost never hungry; relying on himself and only himself did Dimitri good. He no longer had to accept the fact that he did not have the means for that extra meal, and instead did all of his own hunting. Deep in the darkness of forest is where he fashioned his first bow and arrow, a weapon he would later leave in his past but would always hold a special home in his heart. He walks and he hunts and he runs and he runs and he runs until one day he finds himself standing at the entrance to this new city, this new life, fourteen years old and already tougher than all of the other gutter rats he found.

IV. Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight. There’s a reason the Drüskelle leaders chose Sergei to go on the mission, and it was not because he was a man with no real family to speak of, it was not because he was expendable. It’s because he was invaluable. On the day that he was caught stealing and spared his hands, he vowed to make them the most useful weapon in the Drüskelle’s arsenal. From the moment Sergei began his training there wasn’t another soldier who could beat him in combat; he was the sharpest sharpshooter the Drüskelle had seen in what felt like centuries, capable of shooting a rabbit in the eye from distances none of his comrades could, and for every bruise that flowered like lilacs underneath of his skin, twenty more could be found on his opponents. And like all lambs led to the slaughter, Sergei took his fate in stride, accepted the fact that because he was the best, he would be the sacrifice, the offering Fjerda would make to Djel to attain greatness. He is the best Drüskelle they’ve seen in years, and he’s proud to die for that fact.

V. I am selfish. I am cruel. My mate cannot be less than I. He named her Kari, for the way her howls carried themselves along the frigid winds of Elling’s bitter frost. She was just a small pup when they first set out on Dimitri’s new life, the runt of the litter, the least favorite pick of the group – Dimitri had taken to her with a kind of urgency and love he’d only ever before been able to give Maya. She grew with the same tenacity Dimitri had himself, a sure-footed and savage creature, capable of the kind of stealth that would later nominate Sergei as the best Drüskelle in the company. He misses her every single day, and thinks about her much more than he would ever admit: only another Drüskelle could understand that kind of bond. Before he left his home for foreign country he’d taken her back up to lands around Elling, left her trotting along the western seaboard as he took in for the last time the familiar scent of salty air. Kari: pure, the embodiment of wind.

VI. Men die. It’s practically what they’re for. He kept his name, though at first he didn’t plan to. Perhaps it is because he was afraid, afraid that if a wolf went into a lions den wearing a lion-hearted name he too would come out on the other side a lion. Perhaps it’s because for all that he was raised Dimitri Halvorsen, Sergei Valke was always the man he was destined to become, and if he was going to sacrifice himself in the name of his nation, then he wanted to do it wearing the name he had built for himself. So he stayed who he was, but he molded himself into a Ravkan man. He’d done his research, found a man with the surname Valke, a weapons specialist who had spent most of his life living at the Chernast outpost; it was sheer luck of the draw that he’d had Sergei’s name, making it easy for him to track the man down and claim to be his long-lost son. Sergei had been ready to force a letter claiming him to be the old man’s own, but he was so daft and dumb he’d actually believed Sergei. It didn’t take much coaxing or coddling at all to convince him to send his new son to Os Alta to demonstrate the new weapons.

VII. Just tell yourself a story that’ll satisfy you and pretend he told it. Sergei is not kind, and he does not freely give himself away to those around him, but it takes a degree of finesse, of charm to convince not only an entire court that he is who he says he is, but a man had never known before he had a son actually believed him when he claimed to be so.

VIII. I say these things, and the world listens. This one isn’t necessarily fully-fleshed out and understood by me yet, but that’s only because I don’t have all of the cards needed to understand the Fjerdan religious system quite yet. I’m in the process of reading Six of Crows where its more fully fleshed out, but I definitely believe Sergei to be a believer. I imagine it was probably something that had to be instilled in childhood, his parents having had their own hard-set defined belief system that went right along with the rest of Fjerda: the witches need to burn. I don’t think Sergei could dedicate himself so whole-heartedly if he didn’t believe Djel would be looking after him.

EXTRAS:

I have a mockblog & a pinterest board, both of which helped me to find my muse, but probably won’t give you much material to help judge my application.

I listened to My Petersburg a number of times while thinking about teenage Sergei running through the streets of Djerholm, and definitely took a lot of inspiration for his personality during that time of his life from the lyrics!

ANYTHING ELSE? Inkheart is my favorite book :)

#raraccepted #accepted: sergei

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